tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-120473762024-03-07T22:22:07.119-06:00Stefanie SaysStefaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10128238432671375399noreply@blogger.comBlogger673125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12047376.post-1533980870534005572010-01-20T23:40:00.000-06:002010-01-20T23:40:24.669-06:00I carried a watermelon. (I carried a watermelon?)What was that I was saying about needing to go on dates in order to gain blog fodder? I'm not sure what I was thinking. Obviously there are plenty of equally ridiculous things I could do in the name of having a story to tell.<br />
<br />
Like take up Latin dance, for instance. <br />
<br />
What's that? You don't really see me as the Latin dance type? Well, then. That makes two of us. But I've been curious about the Zumba class enthusiastically advertised on flyers at my gym, so the other night I finally cut out of work early to give it a try.<br />
<br />
Do you know what Zumba is? I didn't either, so allow me to explain it to you. It is sort of like the cantina at Senor Frog's, except without the giant margaritas. Lively music? Check. Tiny Latin American woman in tight pants shaking her hips in front of a crowd? Check. Bunch of awkward pasty-skinned Midwesterners? Check. Margaritas? Alas, no. Which is unfortunate, really, because I could have used a margarita after that class. Come to think of it, I could have used a margarita <i>before </i>that class. In fact, I'm pretty sure most of the moves in those routines are intended to be done solely under the influence of alcohol. Part of me kept expecting the instructor to come around to each of us, pour a shot down our throats from a big plastic bottle, and shake our head between her hands while blowing an obnoxious whistle. Yes, I've decided right now: that is what Zumba really needs. Tequila poppers. Any Zumba instructors out there? Take note.<br />
<br />
Basically, in short, Zumba is another attempt to disguise exercise as fun. And it <i>is</i> fun. If, unlike me, you do not lack basic coordination and rhythm, or possibly even lack a specific pivot point in your pelvis that makes simultaneous hip swaying and booty shaking physically possible. I'm telling you: my body does not move like that. It's as if I'm built like a Barbie doll--my legs and waist bend and rotate on specific trajectories, but try to force my frame to move in a way not allowed by those trajectories, and I remain stiff as a board. (By the way, that is, more than likely, the first and last time I will ever compare my own figure to Barbie's. We may both lack the necessary anatomical structure that makes Zumba moves possible, but I will never topple over from the strain of my impossibly narrow waist and dainty feet being unbalanced against my perky, ample, wedge-shaped bust.)<br />
<br />
I knew right from the warm-up that I was in trouble. There is no actual instruction. Our tiny leader simply whistled and pointed when we were to change direction, but in most cases, I hadn't yet gotten the last move down when we moved to the next one, so it's a wonder I never actually trampled my neighbor. I was certain the instructor was going to stop the music and banish me from the class for lack of talent, perhaps even channeling Johnny Castle in the process. "She can't even do the merengue! She can't do it. She CANNOT. DO IT." <br />
<br />
After a while it did get a bit easier... and then it got harder, and then I honestly didn't care anymore. I looked ridiculous, I am more than certain, but the room was dark and crowded, and I told myself (whether it was true or not) that no one was focusing on me. I made it through the class, worked up a productive-feeling sweat, and figured, "Well, I tried that, at least... I made it through the whole class, and I didn't even step on anyone once. Let's call that a success, shall we?"<br />
<br />
But then last night I did something crazy and unexpected. People, I <i>went again. </i><br />
<br />
This class was with a different instructor. Her routines weren't any easier or harder, necessarily, but one notable difference is she left all of the studio lights on. I still think I prefer the anonymity of the semi-darkness, but I'm also sort of glad the lights gave me a better chance to look around. Because when I glanced at my fellow Zumba-goers, I realized that yes, there were several women inexplicably able to make their pelvis vibrate just like our instructor's did, but there were also plenty of women only slightly more coordinated than I. Plenty of middle-aged suburban women with mom hair and last decade's workout clothes, swaying awkwardly and missing steps, just like me. Suddenly we were <i>all </i>the hapless vacationers at Kellerman's, shuffling our way through Penny's dance class in the community room while she cried, "Come on, ladies! God wouldn't have given you maracas if He didn't want you to SHAKE 'EM!" <br />
<br />
Eventually there were brief moments where I forgot that I had no idea what I was doing, took my eyes off the instructor for more than three seconds, and just let my body do what the music was telling it to do. I didn't care that my arms and legs were flailing haphazardly. Like <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rfaztVg4kaA">Phoebe jogging through Central Park</a>, I have realized that's the only way dancing is any fun. Usually I confine my ridiculous dancing to the privacy of my empty living room, but it's important to branch out of one's comfort zone now and then, don't you agree?<br />
<br />
In other news, I am still without a bathroom sink or fully usable shower. But (BUT!), the tiling in the shower area is finally complete and ready for grouting and sealing, and if all goes as planned, I may be taking a shower in my own home as early as next Monday. Hurrah! The other components of this remodel are another story, and I choose not to dwell on them for fear of sinking into a deep depression over the tiny light at the end of the tunnel that still refuses to flicker into view. A tiled shower is progress! And it looks beautiful to boot. It will all come together eventually. Patience, grasshopper. Indeed.<br />
<br />
In <i>other </i>other news, I have a new post up at <a href="http://thegreenists.com/give-it-a-try/lets-talk-about-borax-baby/5205">The Greenists</a> today. This one's about borax. It's a science lesson! It's a cleaning tip! Stop; you're both right! Sounds exciting, doesn't it? You know you want to <a href="http://thegreenists.com/give-it-a-try/lets-talk-about-borax-baby/5205">pop over</a> and read it.Stefaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10128238432671375399noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12047376.post-26520483264750696462010-01-13T10:23:00.000-06:002010-01-13T10:23:09.234-06:00It's been a quiet week in Lake Wo... Wait a minute. This post may ramble on to nowhere, but I still can't use that line.I stand by my sensible vow to blog about work only in the most general of terms, but today was one of those frustrating days where the nature of my company's business required me to pretend to be an expert in an area I'm not, which is something I will never be particularly good at or comfortable with. I maintain that my liberal arts education successfully prepared me to bullshit my way through myriad tasks and situations, but sometimes it just seems more appropriate and ethical to say, "Sorry, but no, we don't do that. Seriously, don't hire me for this."<br />
<br />
Or maybe I am hiding behind ethics simply because I don't <i>want </i>to do the thing they want to pay me to do. In any given situation, if it's a question of ethics or laziness, there's a good chance the latter is more solidly to blame. Or, equally possible, maybe I am making a big deal out of nothing. Perhaps this is just the way business works. After all, lots of people get paid to lie. Meteorologists, for instance. Nine times out of ten they're just making stuff up, right? Maybe I should be a meteorologist. Would I have to get a helmet-like haircut for that?<br />
<br />
At the moment, I couldn't possibly be any less accurate a meteorologist than the ones currently serving the Twin Cities metro area, because every one of them repeatedly assured me that the temperature would reach 30 the past two days, and every one of them was downright wrong. Which wouldn't be so bad had I not BELIEVED them and been so bold as to downgrade from my down jacket back to my flimsy wool pea coat and to leave my hat at home. After nearly two solid weeks of sub-zero temperatures, I should be used to this. Instead, I feel perma-cold.<br />
<br />
Even if I'd been out of the country in some balmy locale for the past week, I would still be able to tell that it'd been ridiculously cold for days on end. No one dares get a car wash in weather like this, for fear that the damn thing will freeze solid. Hence, everyone's car becomes so uniformly spattered with road spray that you can barely see its original paint job. Highways and parking lots start to look like suburban subdivisions--just like the cookie cutter houses in those neighborhoods, every car on the road is an only slightly varying shade of beige. As soon as the temperature reaches the mid-30s, there will be lines ten deep at every car wash, not unlike the gas crisis of 1973. Except that people will let their gas-guzzling giant SUVs idle for the duration that they wait in that line, so really, I guess nothing like the gas crisis of 1973 at all.<br />
<br />
Moving on. I realize there are few less interesting things to talk about than the weather, but I am a Midwesterner. Talking about the weather is what we do. It ensures we don't have to muster any creativity in our small talk, and it prevents most of us from getting too personal (which makes Midwesterners uncomfortable), too. Besides that, even our esteemed public radio affiliate thinks the weather is news. Just the other day, I heard a thoroughly interesting and enlightening (read: utterly obvious and pointless) story explaining just why driving on every residential street in Minneapolis is like driving on a glacier right now. Really, MPR? When the snow melts a bit and then immediately freezes again, it turns into bumpy mounds of ice? And snow plows aren't designed for solid masses of ice? They can clear piles of snow, but not ice floes? How fascinating! Shocking, really! You learn something new every day.<br />
<br />
In truth, I may have been predisposed to annoyance at that particular story solely because it was presented by <a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2009/05/of-course-rats-do-have-bit-of-pr.html">the reporter who didn't find me charming enough to warrant a second date</a>. I should be over and past that by now, of course, but usually when a dude doesn't like me (or I don't like him) I have only to worry about spotting him in Target. I don't typically have to hear his voice in my car on my commute, reminding me of the rejection, taunting me, if you will. This particular reporter has a specific beat, so when I hear the intro for a story that falls under that topic, I'm at least prepared for the commentator to say, "Here with more on that is Tim Becker." But ice floes in the street are not Tim's beat. What is he doing on my radio so often these days?<br />
<br />
I'm not the only one to notice he's been in increased rotation, either. Ever the supportive friend, Carrie said out of the blue one day, "I'm so sick of Tim Becker." It surprised me, because if we're being entirely objective, there's actually nothing wrong with his reporting style, nothing at all unpleasant about his voice. Truly, the man's only offense was his lack of interest in me. But my disappointments are her disappointments, apparently. It's nice to know a friend's got my back. I'm equally grateful to my pal <a href="http://flurrious.wordpress.com/">Flurrious</a>, who once wrote, "That MPR reporter was a fool. When we cast <a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2009/05/im-also-taking-suggestions-for-role-of.html">your montage</a>, let's find someone ugly to play him." Heh.<br />
<br />
Incidentally, I should mention that Tim Becker is, of course, not the reporter's real name. I am not quite foolish enough to type that. I was, however, foolish enough to give the man my blog URL. (It was an experiment, part of a brief period where I decided to do the opposite of what I'd usually do in certain social situations, which unfortunately met with no notable results.) I cannot imagine any reason said reporter would still be checking in here regularly, but if I'm wrong about that, well, hello, Tim. Keep up the good work. How's it going? Call me! (Sigh.)<br />
<br />
Maybe I should return to dating again. It has, after all, been a while. I went on fewer dates in 2009 than any year in recent memory, but you know what? I think I was, on the whole, happier in 2009 than in other recent years as well (nonsense with the Buddhist notwithstanding, that is). Could the two be correlated? Perhaps. Still, dates give me stories, and if I had stories, I probably wouldn't subject the Internet to three consecutive paragraphs about the weather. It's food for thought, I suppose.<br />
<br />
Of course, before I go on another date, I should probably have a usable shower, because this showering at the gym or trying to get clean hair in my tub really isn't quite working for me. I can't bring myself to get up early enough to mess with a bath or the gym in the a.m., so I've been washing my hair at night and then sleeping on it unstyled, which leads to this misshapen conehead sort of thing in the morning. It's a good look, I tell you. I should take my next Catch dot Mom profile pic right NOW.<br />
<br />
And that about catches you up, I think. I am cold, tired, and not-so-recently showered with no definitive remedy to any of those soon in sight. Tell me, what's new with YOU?Stefaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10128238432671375399noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12047376.post-69646086513479548452010-01-04T23:45:00.000-06:002010-01-04T23:45:17.840-06:00All that was missing was a roast duck that smiled at usSo then. Now that I got that belated New Year's post out of the way, should I belatedly talk about Christmas? Eh. It was same old, same old, really. My grandma is gone, but the KFC legacy inexplicably remains, so although my mother actually made a meal from real ingredients rather than from paper to-go cartons for our Christmas Eve dinner, that meal was still accompanied by chicken and biscuits from KFC. People, I cannot explain my family. But you know what? If I'm being totally honest here, KFC is actually pretty good. I mean, it's fried chicken. And delicious, starchy biscuits. How am I going to argue with that? Also, we had fresh brownies for dessert instead of year-old pie, and my older sister ensured we had red wine that <i>wasn't </i>labeled "serve over ice," so really, I can't complain, I guess. Also, we didn't slide into a ditch and die on our way to or from church during the Christmas Eve sleet storm, so hurrah for that as well. Christmas Eve miracles abound, even aside from that whole Son of Man born of a virgin thing.<br />
<br />
As for Christmas Day, now that we no longer have a grandma's house to go to, apparently our new Christmas tradition is a movie and the Chinese buffet, and I have to say, that's not a bad tradition either, if you ask me. In fact, next year, when we drive to Sheboygan in search of an open restaurant for our pre-movie dinner, I am going to cut to the chase and outright suggest we drive directly to the New China Buffet, as we have already done the rounds throughout the city twice, and we already know it is damn near the only place open. I have had better Chinese food, certainly. But I sort of love the low-brow ridiculousness of the all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet--a buffet that includes watered down Americanized versions of all your Chinese favorites, as well as imitation crab leg sushi, pepperoni pizza, and a soft serve ice cream machine from which to self-dispense your dessert. On an ordinary day, it might be my last choice, but on a major holiday? It's got a certain ironic <i>A Christmas Story </i>charm.<br />
<br />
I also received several useful and much appreciated presents, including a toaster oven that is approximately half the size of my Saturn but that I need to somehow fit into my kitchen anyway rather than admit to my mother that I didn't confirm the specific model's dimensions before adding it to my Amazon wish list. And I am eagerly awaiting my next journey to a location I've not been before, so I can test out my new GPS unit. I remain disappointed, however, that I haven't been able to locate the Yoda voice the marketing copy promised me I could download. I mean, the standard, built-in, personalityless voice named Megan is fine and all, but I totally wanted to hear Yoda say "In 300 feet, turn right you must," or "Reached your destination you have." Wouldn't that make driving about town that much more fun? Then again, maybe Yoda doesn't dictate precise directions at all. Maybe he just says, "The force is strong with you. Find your own way, you shall." Maybe Megan is my better bet after all.<br />
<br />
I know I received other lovely gifts too, but I've almost forgotten about them at the moment, as I barely had time to toss things into various disorganized piles before my friend and tiling savior Andy came in with a vanful of tools and started tearing my house apart. I'm exaggerating. Slightly. The truth is my house is a disaster area at the moment and it's driving me a little bit mad, but I'm well aware it's a disaster very much worth enduring, as at the end of it, I will have a very dusty, cluttered home, but I will also have a brand new bathroom with genuine fully waterproof tiles and no duct tape whatsoever in sight. I cannot wait. Meanwhile, however, I still lack a functioning toilet, so I'm crashing at my pal Carrie's place. It actually worked out pretty well, as she happens to be out of town this week, so I can pretend that I am doing a good deed and house sitting for her rather than just squatting on an available couch like a common vagrant. Yes, she is preventing me from having to both pee and bathe in my basement utility sink, but I am doing her favors as well! I am here to make sure her car still starts in this ridiculous sub-zero cold, and equally important, I am here to keep her cats company, too! I have a lap full of cats at the moment, actually, and a keyboard growing increasingly more dusted with cat hair. Who ARE these furry creatures who want little or nothing to do with me when I come over to visit but who are purring like friendly little outboard motors when they rub up against me now? A few days without their usual human around and look how easily they adjust and make do with whoever feeds them. I've known people like that, actually. (With cats, somehow it seems slightly less cheap.)<br />
<br />
All right. I have various other things to ramble on about, including very important questions to help me decide upon various details of my new bathroom's design. But right now, it is getting late, and the lap of cats is making it ever more difficult to type, so such surveying will have to wait for another time, I fear. Can I move, however, with a lap full of cats? Is it rude to disturb them? I feel it may be, but I also feel like, "I'm sorry I'm late, but I had a lap full of cats" is not the sort of excuse that's deemed acceptable at work, so chop-chop, off with you, kitties. Night then.Stefaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10128238432671375399noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12047376.post-34240708914072762192010-01-01T22:01:00.016-06:002011-01-02T12:29:13.434-06:00Shows I've seen in 2010<ul><li><span style="font-weight: bold;">The Current's Five-Year Anniversary Party (Lookbook, Mason Jennings, POS, & Solid Gold) </span>- January 29 (First Avenue)</li>
<li><b>The Avett Brothers </b>- March 5 (First Avenue) </li>
<li><b>Vampire Weekend </b>- March 22 (First Avenue)</li>
<li><b>Dan and Matt Wilson </b>- March 26 (Pantages Theatre)</li>
<li><b>Rogue Valley - </b>April 10 (Fitzgerald Theater) </li>
<li><strong>Owl City </strong>- May 1 (State Theatre)</li>
<li><b>Mumford and Sons - </b>May 25 (Varsity Theater)</li>
<li><b>Basilica Block Party (Rogue Valley, Spoon, and Weezer)</b> - July 9 (Basilica of St. Mary)</li>
<li><b>Josh Ritter w/the Minnesota Orchestra </b>- July 15 (Orchestra Hall)</li>
<li><b>The National </b>- August 6 (First Avenue) </li>
<li><strong>Local Natives </strong>- October 1 (First Avenue)</li>
<li><strong>Benefit for Brad Kern (Semisonic, Mason Jennings, Jeremy Messersmith, Twilight Hours, etc.)</strong> - October 8 (First Avenue)</li>
<li><strong>Rock of Ages</strong> - October 23 (Orpheum Theatre)</li>
<li><strong>Spring Awakening </strong>- November 7 (Orpheum Theatre)</li>
<li><strong>Cloud Cult</strong> - November 18 (First Avenue)</li>
<li><strong>The New Standards </strong>- December 3 (Fitzgerald Theater)</li>
</ul><i><br />
</i><br />
<ul></ul>Stefaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10128238432671375399noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12047376.post-80021932474536306512010-01-01T22:00:00.006-06:002011-01-02T12:15:34.083-06:00Books I've read in 2010* <span style="font-size: 85%;">= Loved it</span><br />
^ <span style="font-size: 85%;">= Hated it</span><br />
~ <span style="font-size: 85%;">= Enjoyed it enough to mark in some way, but "love" is such a very strong word</span><br />
____________________________________<br />
<ol><li><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Thorn-Birds-Novel-Colleen-Mccullough/dp/0061990477/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1278376899&sr=1-1">The Thorn Birds</a> by Colleen Mccullough</li>
<li><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Stay-Allie-Larkin/dp/0525951717/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1278376977&sr=1-1">Stay</a> by Allie Larkin *</li>
<li><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Girls-Trucks-Katie-Crouch/dp/B003NHR8HA/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1278377087&sr=1-1">Girls in Trucks</a> by Katie Crouch *</li>
<li><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Let-Great-World-Spin-Novel/dp/0812973992/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1281916381&sr=8-1">Let the Great World Spin</a> by Colum McCann ~ </li>
<li><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Help-Kathryn-Stockett/dp/0399155341/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1293991638&sr=1-1">The Help</a> by Kathryn Stockett *</li>
<li><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Half-Empty-David-Rakoff/dp/0385525249/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1293991690&sr=1-1">Half Empty</a> by David Rakoff *</li>
<li><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Bird-Some-Instructions-Writing-Life/dp/0385480016/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1293992061&sr=1-1">Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life</a> by Anne Lamott *</li>
<li><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Year-Living-Biblically-Literally-Possible/dp/0743291484/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1293992090&sr=1-1">The Year of Living Biblically</a> by A.J. Jacobs (via audiobook) *</li>
<li><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Forever-Judy-Blume/dp/1416934006/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1293991719&sr=1-1">Forever</a> by Judy Blume</li>
<li><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Eating-Animals-Jonathan-Safran-Foer/dp/0316069884/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1293992116&sr=1-1">Eating Animals</a> by Jonathan Safran Foer (via audiobook) ~</li>
</ol><i><br />
</i><br />
<ol></ol>Stefaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10128238432671375399noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12047376.post-26105088108198002172010-01-01T21:57:00.030-06:002011-01-02T11:58:48.967-06:00Movies I've seen in 2010<span style="font-size: 85%;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;"><b></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;"><b>* </b>- My thumbs are up</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;"><b>^</b> - My thumbs are down</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;">~ - At least one thumb is up, but maybe not super-enthusiastically</span><br />
________________________<br />
<br />
January 1 - <a href="http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/son_of_rambow/">Son of Rambow</a> (2008)<br />
January 23 - <a href="http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/stop_loss/">Stop-Loss</a> (2008) *<br />
January 30 - <a href="http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/dancer_in_the_dark/">Dancer in the Dark</a> (1999) ^<br />
February 5 - <a href="http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/up/">Up</a> (2009) *<br />
February 6 - <a href="http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/zombieland/">Zombieland</a> (2009) ~<br />
February 12 - <a href="http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/a_serious_man/">A Serious Man</a> (2009)<br />
February 13 - <a href="http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/bright_star/">Bright Star</a> (2009) ~<br />
February 14 - <a href="http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/i_hate_valentines_day/">I Hate Valentine's Day</a> (2009) ^<br />
February 14 - <a href="http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/hannah_montana_the_movie/">Hannah Montana The Movie</a> (2009)<br />
February 26 - <a href="http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/coraline/">Coraline</a> (2009) *<br />
February 27 - <a href="http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/whip_it/">Whip It</a> (2009) *<br />
March 13 - <a href="http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/room/">The Room</a> (2003) ^^^<br />
March 20 - <a href="http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/american_president/">The American President</a> (1995) *<br />
March 21 - <a href="http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/10009599-alice_in_wonderland/">Alice in Wonderland</a> (2010) *<br />
April 2 - <a href="http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/lost_boys/">The Lost Boys</a> (1987) <br />
April 3 - <a href="http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/1212694-blind_side/">The Blind Side</a> (2009) *<br />
April 17 - <a href="http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/1085404-impostors/">The Impostors</a> (1998)<br />
April 18 - <a href="http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/cold_souls/">Cold Souls</a> (2009) ^ <br />
April 21 - <a href="http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/10012280-fresh/">Fresh</a> (2010) *<br />
April 26 - <a href="http://www.trampolinethemovie.com/">Trampoline</a> (2010) * <br />
April 28 - <a href="http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/hurt_locker/">The Hurt Locker</a> (2009)<br />
May 1 - <a href="http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/an_education/">An Education</a> (2009) *<br />
May 8 - <a href="http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/1208882-cove/">The Cove</a> (2009) *<br />
May 8 - <a href="http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/brief_interviews_with_hideous_men/">Brief Interviews with Hideous Men</a> (2009) ^<br />
May 29 - <a href="http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/1201402-17_again/">17 Again</a> (2009)<br />
May 30 - <a href="http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/lifeboat/">Lifeboat</a> (1944) *<br />
June 25 - <a href="http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/timer/">TiMER</a> (2009) *<br />
June 27 - <a href="http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/crazy_heart/">Crazy Heart</a> (2009) *<br />
July 5 - <a href="http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/1208105-adam/">Adam</a> (2009) *<br />
July 12 - <a href="http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/1210749-eclipse/">Twilight: Eclipse</a> (2010)<br />
July 24 - <a href="http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/1213717-salt/">Salt</a> (2010)<br />
July 24 - <a href="http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/inception/">Inception</a> (2010)<br />
July 31 - <a href="http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/millenium_le_film/">The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo</a> (2009) *<br />
August 13 - <a href="http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/valentines_day_2010/">Valentine's Day</a> (2010)<br />
August 14 - <a href="http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/eat_pray_love/">Eat Pray Love</a> (2010) ~<br />
August 15 - <a href="http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/leap_year_2010/">Leap Year</a> (2010) ^<br />
August 19 - <a href="http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/the_runaways/">The Runaways</a> (2010)<br />
August 20 - <a href="http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/the_switch_2010/">The Switch</a> (2010)<br />
August 22 - <a href="http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/dakota_skye/">Dakota Skye</a> (2007) <br />
August 22 - <a href="http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/melvin_goes_to_dinner/">Melvin Goes to Dinner</a> (2003) ^<br />
September 4 - <a href="http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/cinema_paradiso/">Cinema Paradiso</a> (1988) ~ <br />
September 5 - <a href="http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/into_temptation/">Into Temptation</a> (2009)<br />
October 9 - <a href="http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/hot_tub_time_machine/">Hot Tub Time Machine</a> (2010) ~<br />
November 12 - <a href="http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/fame/">Fame</a> (1980)<br />
November 13 - <a href="http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/the-experiment-2010/">The Experiment</a> (2010)<br />
November 13 - <a href="http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/1220683-chevolution/">Chevolution</a> (2008)<br />
November 19 - <a href="http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/10012136-winters_bone/">Winter's Bone</a> (2010) *<br />
November 20 - <a href="http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/you_will_meet_a_tall_dark_stranger/">You Will Meet a Tall, Dark Stranger</a> (2010)<br />
November 26 - <a href="http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/1209767-mary_and_max/">Mary and Max</a> (2009) *<br />
November 28 - <a href="http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/sex_and_the_city_2/">Sex & the City 2</a> (2010) ^<br />
December 5 - <a href="http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/1106020-someone_like_you/">Someone Like You</a> (2001)<br />
December 11 - <a href="http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/1017293-rebecca/">Rebecca</a> (1940) ~<br />
December 11 - <a href="http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/1003883-charade/">Charade</a> (1963)<br />
December 12 - <a href="http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/how_to_marry_a_millionaire/">How to Marry a Millionaire</a> (1953)<br />
December 14 - <a href="http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/parenthood/">Parenthood</a> (1989)*<br />
December 16 - <a href="http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/scott_pilgrims_vs_the_world/">Scott Pilgrim vs. the World</a> (2010) ~<br />
December 25 - <a href="http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/everything_youve_got/">How Do You Know</a> (2010)<br />
December 26 - <a href="http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/martian_child/">Martian Child</a> (2007) ~<br />
December 27 - <a href="http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/1055875-only_you/">Only You</a> (1994)<br />
December 30 - <a href="http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/daybreakers/">Daybreakers</a> (2009)Stefaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10128238432671375399noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12047376.post-34004655012333466002009-12-31T21:29:00.083-06:002010-01-03T22:48:49.409-06:00In which I try to remember what I did all year, and realize I didn't do much all yearWell hello and happy new year, friends. Yes, yes, most of you wrote your New Year's posts days or more ago already, and many of you have already pushed 2009 far, far out of your memory, never to be spoken of again. But most of you probably didn't spend the last week embarking on a remodeling project that sucked up all of your free time and physical energy and rendered you temporarily homeless to boot. Remember when I thought I would have ample free evenings between Christmas and New Year's to catch up with my Internet friends? That was hilarious, in retrospect. My best intentions and estimations slay me at times, really.<br />
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Hence, my year-end post is late, which is only fitting, given that my annual trip back through my archives proved to me that I spent most of the year feeling behind and out of the loop. I would like to think 2010 will be different, and as such, I am back-dating this post to keep it in 2009, where it belongs. The new year starts with my next post. Meanwhile, here's a recap of what I did in '09.<br />
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<b>January: </b>Hopped on a Flurrious bandwagon and <a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2009/01/of-course-to-be-considered-for.html">proclaimed myself a Spinster Blogger</a>. (Note: I am still waiting for my Prius, as well as my crock pot.) Tried to up my dairy intake via <a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2009/01/surprisingly-jar-jar-binks-wasnt-worst.html">buttercream frosting</a>. Learned that there really is <a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2009/01/tell-me-something.html">a web site for everything</a>. Graduated from the <a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2009/01/whoa-aaay.html">Arthur Fonzarelli School of Car Repair</a>. Had dinner with an old boyfriend <a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2009/01/yet-more-proof-that-this-city-is.html">at a Buddhist Center</a>. Told G.W. not to let the door hit him <a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2009/01/nuf-said.html">on the way out</a>.<b> </b><br />
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<b>February: </b>Realized that Facebook isn't the place for <a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2009/02/what-did-i-do-for-paranoia-before-i.html">the over-analytical or paranoid</a>. Watched two lovely friends <a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2009/02/weekend-update-on-tuesday-but-fully.html">get engaged</a>. Went on <a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2009/02/all-right-fine-pictures.html">vacation (yay!) with my coworkers (meh)</a>.<br />
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<b>March:</b> Celebrated National Grammar Day with <a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2009/03/like-christmas-for-nerds.html">a grammartini</a>. Proved yet again that my aging Saturn <a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2009/03/this-post-may-start-with-usual.html">may be invincible</a>. Met Pauly Shore. (<a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2009/03/range-rovin-with-cinema-stars.html">Not really</a>.) Observed <a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2009/03/what-do-dexter-bible-and-library-boys.html">Library Boy</a> in his natural habitat. <a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2009/03/katie-holmes-is-doing-it-so-it-must-be.html">Turned 35</a>. Realized that in The Buddhist's case, <a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2009/03/rest-of-story-because-i-promised-it-to.html">once a fuckwit, always a fuckwit</a>, unfortunately. Joined the 21st century with a <a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2009/03/tonight-im-gonna-party-like-its-2002.html">new-to-me laptop</a> (Thanks, Steve!). Spent too much time <a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2009/03/facebook-things-alternate-title-hi-im.html">on</a> <a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2009/03/there-is-more-informative-and-relevant.html">Facebook</a>. (Admittedly, that probably happened in every month of 2009, but not every month includes two relevant links.)<br />
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<b>April:</b> Was told to <a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2009/04/this-charming-man.html">steer clear of Aquarius men</a>. Learned that I don't <a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2009/04/i-wonder-if-hed-wanna-be-manta-ray.html">don't like skate wings</a>. Considered marrying yet another inanimate object (this time, <a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2009/04/bullet-points-of-randomness-sans-any.html">an avocado</a>). <a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2009/04/im-still-alive.html">Asked out a total stranger </a>whose work email address happens to be in the public domain.<br />
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<b>May: </b>Went out with the aforementioned total stranger. Got only <a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2009/05/of-course-rats-do-have-bit-of-pr.html">one story</a> out of it. Took casting and soundtrack suggestions for <a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2009/05/im-also-taking-suggestions-for-role-of.html">the movie version of my life</a>. Went all She-Ra with my yard work and <a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2009/05/little-more-little-less-this-could-go.html">broke a shovel</a>. (Also, learned there may be a lawn tools fairy who <a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2009/05/do-you-believe-in-miracles.html">puts broken shovels back together</a>.) Vowed <a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2009/05/maybe-helpful-gnome-who-fixed-my-shovel.html">never to go into my basement again</a>. Had <a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2009/05/more-talk-about-things-that-terrify-me.html">an epic baking fail and an unintentional and almost frightening</a> garden success. Used a camping trip as an excuse to make the same <a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2009/05/i-could-win-prize-for-procrastinating.html">Thoreau joke</a> I made last year, despite it garnering no real laughs the first time I tried.<b> </b><br />
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<b>June:</b> Grew increasingly wary of the <a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2009/06/in-which-i-turn-what-could-have-been.html">mutant space rhubarb</a>. Narrowly escaped <a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2009/06/in-which-i-apparently-do-not-know-what.html">the road to alcoholism</a>, despite that road possibly running quite adjacent to <a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2009/06/in-which-i-apparently-do-not-know-what.html">the road to plucky hermitude</a>. Proved that 16-months-expired salad dressing <a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2009/06/meme-in-two-parts-part-1.html">won't kill you</a> (but obsessed about it for several paragraphs anyway). Clicked <a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2009/06/when-i-ran-spell-check-on-this-blogger.html">the "Confirm as friend" button</a> at least one time more than necessary. Maintained that holding a <a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2009/06/its-not-that-i-dislike-my-job-but-more.html">not-so-secret appreciation for the ridiculous</a> does not make me unrelateably highbrow. Finally finished <a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2009/06/in-which-i-finally-show-you-what-ive.html">the landscaping project</a> I'd rambled about since May.<br />
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<b>July:</b> Learned I am a master negotiator. (Or rather, that I could successfully negotiate <a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2009/07/three-quick-things.html">at least once</a>.) <a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2009/07/more-proof-that-im-probably-just-well.html">Went to see Garrison Keillor</a> in a sweltering city park. Decided <i>not</i> to ask out every appealing man I see <a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2009/07/and-i-thought-last-one-would-have-made.html">on stage at the Varsity</a>. Tried to explain all of my yard-related mysteries <a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2009/07/just-doing-my-part-to-give-last.html">with semi-obscure movie references</a>.<br />
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<b>August:</b> <a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2009/08/as-matter-of-fact-i-would-jump-off.html">Complained about the trials of being a grown-up</a>, and then vanished from the Internet for the remainder of the month. (I'm sure I did lots of other things, too, but if I didn't write it down, it didn't happen, I guess.)<br />
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<b>September:</b> Remembered that I DID do worthwhile things in August. Like went on an <a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2009/09/september-doesnt-officially-start-until.html">old-school family road trip</a>, and discovered South Dakota is far more beautiful than I ever knew. Held an impromptu <a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2009/09/take-sad-song-and-make-it-better.html">Beatles debate</a>. Spent a fun-filled, hilarious long weekend <a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2009/09/take-sad-song-and-make-it-better.html">in California</a>, and came home with the Amish Friendship Cold.<br />
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<b>October:</b> Failed to successfully explain why my father needs a gallon of soda at his immediate disposal, nor why he brings <a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2009/10/spoonman.html">his own spoon to restaurants</a>. Made out with <a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2009/10/brevity-is-rarely-my-strong-suit.html">an Australian stranger</a> in public. Took <a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2009/11/tramampoline.html">trampoline classes</a>! Proposed a <a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2009/10/boot-camp-for-lost-boys.html">Boot Camp for Lost Boys</a>. Got food poisoning. (But didn't write about it. You're welcome.) Went on a Halloween <a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2009/11/nablonogo.html">Pedal Pub</a> ride.<br />
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<b>November:</b> Tried to make up for my lack of <i>Stefanie Says </i>posts by pointing you to <a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2009/11/elsewhere.html">my<i> Greenists</i> posts</a>. (Failed to convince anyone that this was a reasonable trade-off.) Had a perfect, KFC-free <a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2009/12/im-well-aware-tiny-tim-had-tougher-row.html">Thanksgiving</a> with friends.<br />
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<b>December:</b> Bemoaned the recession hitting too close to home. Learned that I still <a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2009/12/im-well-aware-tiny-tim-had-tougher-row.html">can't be trusted with a damn checkbook</a>, and that my inability to do math may be my bank's primary source of profit. Showed the Internet my ghetto shower. (<a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2009/12/maybe-i-could-just-tile-my-whole-shower.html">Again</a>.) Won a small prize for <a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2009/12/you-can-do-it-we-can-help-you-load-it.html">donning a ridiculous (but festive!) getup</a>. Also, finally began my long-postponed bathroom remodel, and used it as an (entirely valid) excuse to continue neglecting the Internet into the early days of 2010.<br />
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In all, it was a mostly uneventful year interspersed with many good times with friends but maybe not quite enough adventures and escapades. If the Facebook population is to be trusted (and why wouldn't it be?), 2010 is already off to a more auspicious start, so I am going to try to piggy-back on that optimism and see good things in store for me as well. First up: indoor plumbing and brand new tile. After that: the world! Peace out, 2009. Let's get this new year a-rolling.Stefaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10128238432671375399noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12047376.post-18475385151140554242009-12-21T00:19:00.002-06:002009-12-21T08:37:05.293-06:00You can do it. We can help... you load it into your car, at least.OK, this just in, in case you weren't aware. It is now a mere FIVE DAYS until Christmas. I'm not exactly sure how that happened, but I remain convinced that my house is riddled with worm holes or some such thing. Frequent stumbles into time warps are the only explanation for what on earth happened to large chunks of 2009. On a related note, it seems the Internet does not stop just because I'm too busy working, making Christmas treats, or obsessing about bathroom tile. No, I just clicked over to Bloglines for the first time in over a week, and the rest of you have still been busy writing away... It reminds me of that episode of <i>Growing Pains </i>where Mike stayed home from school for a day and had a really obvious epiphany that the programming on television goes on even when he turns the set off, and the day at school went on as normal even though he was not there. It's an obscure reference, I realize, but the Internet taught me that I'm not the only one who thinks of Tom Hanks as Elyse Keaton's alcoholic brother every time I use vanilla extract, so you never know, I guess. Incidentally, I also think of Mike Seaver seeing his dead relative jogging through the kitchen in the middle of the night every time I need to buy buttermilk. (Anyone? No? Moving on then.) My point is I will catch up eventually. I have very little planned socially in the week following Christmas, so I suspect it will be me cozied up with the Internet for at least a few nights there. See you then.<br />
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So. What have I been up to lately? Well, I successfully finished on time all but two of the hand-made gifts I'd planned for friends this Christmas. Here are three of them, modeled by their lovely recipients last night.<br />
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<a href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v467/indigo1874/Blog/IMG_6215.jpg"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v467/indigo1874/Blog/IMG_6215.jpg" width="400" /></a><br />
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That picture was taken at my pal Lisa's Christmas party, for which she promised prizes in various holiday spirit categories, much like the Ugly Sweater parties that have become so popular in recent years. Lisa added a similar challenge to the Evite for her last Christmas party, in 2007, and several attendees stepped up to the plate. If you're the sort of person who somehow manages to remember everything I write, perhaps that <a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2007/12/standard-see-you-later-entry.html">rings a bell</a>. If not, again, here is the photographic evidence from that event. Me in a ridiculous outfit? Check. But alone in the ridiculousness? Hardly.<br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/33729311@N00/2129745979/in/photostream" title="Contestant panel by stefanie1874, on Flickr"><img alt="Contestant panel" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2061/2129745979_ac0d7b682e.jpg" width="400" /></a><br />
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">(I hate that picture of myself, by the way. Unfortunately, it's the only one I have that serves the purpose at hand.) </span></i><br />
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This year, however? This year I was THE ONLY ONE TO PARTICIPATE. Apparently in two short years my friends have all gotten too busy or dignified for such nonsense. People, I was just following instructions. The invitation called for holiday flair, and I brought it. I planned ahead, even. I went to freaking eBay, and I bought these silly, festive tights from a shop that I'm pretty sure deals mostly in stripper wear and "I'm a sexy [insert any occupation or person-noun here]" supplies. I bought those tights, and I wore this ridiculous outfit, like I was bound directly for my part-time job at Santa's photo booth at the mall.<br />
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<a href="http://smg.photobucket.com/albums/v467/indigo1874/Blog/?action=view&current=IMG_6213.jpg" target="_blank"><img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v467/indigo1874/Blog/IMG_6213.jpg" width="350" /></a><br />
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I wore that outfit, and I went to the party, and I was THE ONLY ONE not in normal Saturday night gathering attire. (No, red and white striped tights do not fall under the category of "Normal Saturday Night Gathering Attire" for me. Thanks for wondering, though.) It was not unlike the year in college when my friend Sarah had a Halloween party on November 1. It was a mere DAY after Halloween, which was presumably a very logical night for a Halloween party, given that it was a Friday, and Halloween itself did not fall on a weekend. And yet, when we went out to the bars, all the usual Friday night bar-goers in their usual Friday night outfits looked at us as confused and appalled as if we had walked in wearing Halloween costumes in the middle of May. I am prone to finding myself unknowingly inappropriately dressed and out of place, it seems. Perhaps that explains a lot. On the upside, obviously I won a prize last night, given that the competition was so slim. I now have two pretty new bottles of lovely-smelling hand soap to eventually use in my soon-to-be lovely remodeled bathroom. So there is that, anyway.<br />
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Speaking of my bathroom, I bought tile today! Lots of tile. So much tile that the helpful young man loading it into my car asked, "How far are you driving with this? I'm thinking maybe you should make two trips." It turns out it's not enough to know confidently that everything you're piling onto the wheeled flatbed cart will easily fit in your compact Saturn SL2. Apparently one needs to consider the total <i>weight </i>of what you're piling on the flatbed cart as well. And apparently a small bathroom's worth of wall and floor tile weighs significantly more than I anticipated, because as we loaded it up, my car was riding lower than if I'd had Gilbert Grape's mother and two clones of her riding in all my passenger seats. Live and learn. Load capacity matters. Who knew? (Well, most of you, I presume.) <br />
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Incidentally, can I just say, since I fear I mention companies by name only when I have an angry bone to pick with them <i>(I'm looking at YOU, TCF Bank; you're still ON NOTICE, as our friend Stephen Colbert would say!!)</i> that in my humble experience, the orange-aproned personnel at Home Depot have been a bit unfairly maligned? Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe the Home Depot off Johnson in Minneapolis is a rare bastion of friendliness in an otherwise cold, cruel, orange-aproned world. Still. I have never gone there and <i>not</i> had at least two employees ask me, in a strangely sincere and earnest tone, if there was anything they could help me figure out or find. True, half the time it is a male employee who is hovering precariously on the delicate line between congenial customer service and creepy, inappropriate and awkward flirting. But today it was a 20-something woman who went above and beyond what I would ever expect an orange-aproned employee to do for me. She was the one who crawled into the cave of scaffolding to retrieve 13 packages of white ceramic subway tile for me, and she was the one to whom I first asked, "Do you think this is too much to try to haul in my car?" And instead of giving me a blank look that said, "Why are you asking me that? My job is to sell you the tile; how you get it home is your business," she replied, "What kind of car do you have? I could go Google the load capacity to find out..." Unfortunately, for once Google wasn't all-knowing, and the call she put out on her walkie-talkie ("Does anyone know the load capacity of a Saturn sedan?") didn't yield any solid answers either, and our seemingly sound math of "That's probably not more than 800 pounds of tile, and surely you could cart around four 200-pound humans without any worries" didn't exactly pan out, so I ended up leaving half my tile at the service counter and making a second trip to pick it up. But still! Helpful employees! At Home Depot! In this day and age! You may say it's a Christmas miracle, but I'm telling you, strangely it's somehow par for the course for me.<br />
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I would like to think that pleasant experiences like this bode well for the overall spirit of this project and serve as a sign that all will go fast and smooth, according to plan. I am sticking my fingers in my ears and saying "La-la-la, I can't hear you!" every time anyone tells me about their bathroom remodeling nightmares, because I am already dreading the period during which I'll be bathroom-less and I am possibly in denial, truly hoping that period will last for no longer than a week. The end result will be worth the inconvenience, and perhaps living like a resident of a third-world country will be a valuable, humbling experience for me. The baby Jesus didn't have a shower either, did he, but did that stop him from carrying out his duties as Son of Man? It's been a while since Catholic school, but I'm gonna say no.Stefaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10128238432671375399noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12047376.post-90811259836747569782009-12-13T20:55:00.181-06:002009-12-13T23:31:15.691-06:00Maybe I could just tile my whole shower in duct tape and save myself a lot of cash.Last night was my company's holiday party, or, as I referred to it earlier today, "a total waste of a shower." I kid. (Mostly.) It was fine. But the aforementioned recession pay cuts and uncertainty of everyone's job security meant that our usual schmancy-ish dinner out was scaled back to a pretty uneventful potluck at the owners' condo. I arrived with my layer bars fashionably late, around 7:50, and we were all essentially herded out by 9:15, meaning I spent only slightly more time at the party than I did in my car driving to and from it. On the up side, I was back on my couch in my yoga pants by 10:30, settled in for some knitting and the requisite holiday viewing of <i>Love Actually, </i>which is a fine way to spend a chilly Saturday, if you ask me<i>. </i>If I can't leave my company's holiday party with a hot Brazilian bespectacled coworker, at least I can watch Laura Linney do so. (Although if I were Laura Linney, you can be damn sure I would have chucked my cell phone far from earshot once the hot bespectacled Brazilian took his shirt off. I'm sure I'm not the only one who wants to reach through the screen and do that for her every time I watch that scene.)<br />
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In truth, I don't know why I have such a predisposed aversion to forced socialization with my perfectly nice coworkers and their perfectly nice spouses. Idle small talk has never been my forte, I suppose, and lately it feels that conversationally, I've got nothing. My brain and my free time calendar have been extra busy recently, but not with anything that makes for particularly good stories or party talk. No one wants to hear about my continuing struggle to assemble timely hand-made gifts that aren't worthy of a featured spot on <a href="http://www.regretsy.com/">Regretsy</a>. No one wants to hear me fret aloud about my only slightly irrational fear that my aging Saturn as well as every one of my appliances are about to give up the ghost at the exact same time, when I have absolutely no extra money squirreled away to replace these items. And I'm pretty sure no one (except possibly our company's accountant and human resources coordinator, who recently built a house and is still eyeball-deep in such decisions himself) wants to hear me go on about whether I should install a decorative chair rail or an ordinary bullnose as the top row of the new bathroom tile I'm about to have installed and whether the new granite countertop I've ordered for my vanity should have a matching backsplash or not.<br />
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This is riveting stuff, I realize, but unfortunately, it is what's consuming the bulk of the idle space in my brain these days. I am not at all looking forward to the week or more period when my home's only bathroom will be torn apart like a war zone, but I am so VERY much looking forward to finally having a bathroom that I'm not embarrassed to have guests use that I can barely contain my excitement about new tile and granite and the like. (This just in: I am old and boring. Is this what middle age feels like?)<br />
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Thanksgiving weekend marked the official onset of my long-postponed bathroom remodeling project, otherwise known as "Operation: No More Duct Tape in the Shower." You <a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2008/05/more-rambling-about-what-my-house-looks.html">remember that, don't you</a>? No? To sum up, my shower was, it seems, never meant to be a shower. By which I mean, it was never meant to get wet. Because if it were meant to get wet, the previous owners wouldn't have tiled it with adhesive METAL tiles, given metal's tendency to crack and rust when exposed to prolonged moisture. (You know--like the kind prone to occur in a SHOWER.) They also <i>painted </i>those tiles, which was another awesome and excellent idea, given paint's habit of chipping and peeling off of non-porous surfaces, again, where water is involved.<br />
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Those cracked, rusting tiles have been trying their damndest to fall off my walls for the past several years, and when the crack sealer I've continually gunked up in the faux grout lines wouldn't hold them any more, I decided duct tape would temporarily have to do. Which means that my shower has, for the past year and a half, looked something like this. Awesome.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr0oyhf2_eAk6WQtGMfVTQzUp_iaG74XImXKwKWQ0qGxgLefuvG2M3Z01M4UrA-NwbH8ZJK_qT0O2mZ8oOKtHFWEse0uaqy_S_rUJjKIcysi1t5O0H-nMm6ChIz_suHP2sYLeU/s1600/IMG_6145.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr0oyhf2_eAk6WQtGMfVTQzUp_iaG74XImXKwKWQ0qGxgLefuvG2M3Z01M4UrA-NwbH8ZJK_qT0O2mZ8oOKtHFWEse0uaqy_S_rUJjKIcysi1t5O0H-nMm6ChIz_suHP2sYLeU/s320/IMG_6145.JPG" /></a><br />
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Recession-era paycut or no, it is beyond time to finally remedy this eyesore, so the week after Christmas, one of my handiest and most useful friends will be helping me retile and remodel this monstrosity. Because sometimes things have to get worse before they can get better, however, my shower now currently looks like this: <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKtSNK-KX5dEP12AkL0O0K7wa0zY-7irgYPZD_EFrRdYG8_a6E2yFgyfixGuB0Y_FpOpiVgSUvH6WadfL80JROz4ItCA375dKVlytRNuM28lbTIwGwidKg5x62frmyzltHqS1w/s1600/IMG_6154.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKtSNK-KX5dEP12AkL0O0K7wa0zY-7irgYPZD_EFrRdYG8_a6E2yFgyfixGuB0Y_FpOpiVgSUvH6WadfL80JROz4ItCA375dKVlytRNuM28lbTIwGwidKg5x62frmyzltHqS1w/s320/IMG_6154.JPG" /></a><br />
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Or rather, it looks like this... (The goal of the head start on demolition was to find out just what was behind those rusty metal plates and determine how much structural damage would have to be undone before work could proceed. As it turns out, there's not as much water damage beneath the tile as I feared, but leaving it all uncovered would obviously change that right quick.) <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4PM08jLoiXJRQfCu0d-V5k-rLgytXr6-kJOuOOZhIkEodCPVDVX2poAuRiVLBA6Kqn3QpmW-VdvTruQMcOJAIvK6o0YYo-U_dGt_V3p7jJOwbemrIv1fXBIWsq8b4v5nhHtE8/s1600/IMG_6156.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4PM08jLoiXJRQfCu0d-V5k-rLgytXr6-kJOuOOZhIkEodCPVDVX2poAuRiVLBA6Kqn3QpmW-VdvTruQMcOJAIvK6o0YYo-U_dGt_V3p7jJOwbemrIv1fXBIWsq8b4v5nhHtE8/s320/IMG_6156.JPG" /></a><br />
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This means, of course, that once again, my attempts to eliminate the duct tape from my shower have instead resulted in MORE duct tape (temporarily, thankfully). <br />
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What's more unsettling than the duct tape, though, are the exposed wall beams. I may not have the basic structure of my house entirely squared away in my head, but I'm pretty sure that if you follow those wall beams down a few feet, you arrive in my somewhat unfinished basement laundry room. The laundry room, you may recall, is where <a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2009/05/maybe-helpful-gnome-who-fixed-my-shovel.html">the largest bug I have ever seen in real life</a> lives, and though I haven't seen Gregor lately, I am convinced that now that the wall beams that go straight into the basement are exposed, I will see him waving his 100 or so legs at me in greeting one morning when I'm least expecting it. Or worse, I will finally see my first [starts with "m" and rhymes with "blouse"] in my home not in my basement or under my stove but peering out at me through that thin layer of plastic when I am wet and naked and ill equipped for rational thought. Because that is what [starts with "m" and rhymes with "twice"] do, obviously. They climb interior wall beams like Spider-Man and seek out areas to drown themselves and terrify me.<br />
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This is how my brain works, and this is what I've been obsessed with recently. Ailing appliances, temperamental car parts, bathroom tile, and rodents. Aren't you sorry I don't post more often? I thought so.Stefaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10128238432671375399noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12047376.post-15682359624922304662009-12-02T23:22:00.003-06:002009-12-03T00:07:52.123-06:00I'm well aware Tiny Tim had a tougher row to hoe and a better attitude. What of it?OK, seriously. December already? Could someone tell me how exactly <i>that </i>happened? Pipe down, smartasses; you don't actually need to explain the intricacies of the Gregorian calendar to me. Rhetorical questions are still valid ones sometimes, I say.<br />
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So it's December, and I'm supposed to be all glowy with the warmth of the damn holiday spirit, but alas, December is stressing me out. Yes, on only the second day. The whole month stretches ahead of me, and yet, all I can think about are the hand-knit gifts that I was going to start IN JULY but that remain only half finished three weeks before Christmas. Or the <a href="http://thepioneerwoman.com/cooking/2009/10/chocolate-truffles-with-sea-salt/">salted chocolate truffles</a> that I made recently, thinking that they'd be lovely little tokens for my friends and family, but that for some reason have already grown ugly, mottled light spots like year-old Halloween candy. (Not that anyone would know what <i>that </i>looks like, I assume.) So at the moment, my half-finished and failure-ridden home-made gift efforts seem most well suited to the Island of Misfit Toys (and, er, Candy and Scarves). Woe is me and my dashed hopes of from-the-heart thriftiness. <br />
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So I have Christmas shopping to do, and in an instance of excellent timing, I was recently told that my company is maybe not doing quite as well as we've been told all year (read: apparently nowhere NEAR as well as we've been told all year), and instead of getting a raise on what was, awesomely coincidentally, my 12-year employment anniversary, I got a 10% pay cut. Hurrah. Mind you, it was not just a "Happy anniversary" prize for me alone. Word is we all got pay cuts. Or, all of us who were lucky enough to keep our jobs (for now). An undisclosed number were actually laid off or had their hours cut instead. Happy holidays!<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>[Side note/Disclaimer of sorts: I do realize that the previous paragraph falls squarely and solidly in the category of "Things I should not blog about" (i.e., "Things I could get fired for"). At the moment and for the record, I sort of feel it's a fair breech. This is my blog, about my life, which I write on my own time, and this is what's going on in my life right now. I will never, ever mention my company's name in this space, nor give any details identifying enough to reveal said name. So I'm sorry to anyone who someday finds this blog and shouldn't, but at the moment, with all due respect, I say kindly suck it.]</i></span><br />
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On top of that, I still cannot be trusted with a damn checkbook, and one measly little error has caused me TWO HUNDRED AND EIGHTY DOLLARS in NSF fees. Good grief. As some of you may have seen me complain on Facebook this evening, I am well aware that banks need to find ways to turn a profit, but I would much prefer that TCF Bank find a way to do so without coldly bleeding me dry. Yes, that's right, I said TCF. I have few qualms stating that particular company by name. Because seriously, if you are going to punish me EIGHT TIMES for what was quite obviously one single mistake, I am going to tell the Internet (or at least, my tiny corner of it) how disgruntled I am. I am not the sort of societal and financial delinquent you might see on the likes of the Judge Judy or Jerry Springer show. I am a smart, almost wearyingly responsible girl with her head screwed on nearly entirely straight. Would I keep using my check card if I knew there was actually no money in my account? Of course not. But if my unfortunately erroneous checkbook balance indicates all clear, all systems go, I'm going to carry on as usual, and penalizing me charge by charge while your old school paper notices make their way by Pony Express to my house really does me no good at all.Gah.<br />
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Sigh. It's time to stop this futile rant, I realize. Times are lean for all of us. Or, times are lean for <i>most </i>of us. I suspect the president of TCF is still doing just fine. In any case, moving on.<br />
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I should note that is it not all tears over banking injustices and tight purse strings around here. I did have a lovely Thanksgiving with some lovely friends. More than two people in attendance confidently proclaimed it the Best Thanksgiving Ever, and I dare say I must agree with them. I mean, no eleven hours on the road round-trip back home, no tense conversation with family members who I love but drive me batty, and no <a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2008/11/let-them-and-by-them-i-mean-me-eat-pie.html">day-old KFC biscuits or year-old apple pie</a>! It was a win-win-win, I say. Seriously, people. Look at this spread! Tell me you don't want to have Thanksgiving with my urban family next year.<br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/33729311@N00/4139095275/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="blank"><img alt="The spread. The beautiful spread." border="0" height="320" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2682/4139095275_d0709ab434.jpg" width="240" /></a><br />
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Note: Those are prosciutto-wrapped sweet potatoes in the lower-left there, people. Essentially, sweet potatoes wrapped in <i>bacon</i>. I know how much the Internet likes bacon. If you're not sufficiently excited about this buffet line, it's only because I failed to photograph the desserts. Apple pie and pumpkin cheesecake (courtesy of me, and both delicious, if I do say so myself). Mmmm.<br />
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On a loosely related note, not that my Thanksgiving Day wardrobe should be of any interest to you, but since I am bragging about things I made, how about I return momentarily to those skirts I mentioned making a few posts back? Shana Who Lacks a Link requested pictures, and while I still have no photos of the skirts in action (or at least, in use), I do have some flat, static, "wowsa, are my hips really that wide?" pics for you...<br />
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This is the first skirt I made, which is a lovely albeit a bit cumbersome little wrap dealie-o... <br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/33729311@N00/4139823572/in/set-72157603184107671/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="blank"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2692/4139823572_6122bdde29.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
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And here is the one I made in the Intermediate/Advanced skirt class, which features both a lining and an invisible (or, <i>nearly </i>invisible) back zipper. In other words, I rock.<br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/33729311@N00/4139062091/in/set-72157603184107671/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="blank" ><img border="0" height="240" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2501/4139062091_b209a716ff.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
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That second skirt I decided should be my Thanksgiving skirt, so I actually <i>do </i>have a picture of it in use, albeit a not very helpful and showcasey picture at that. Still. Are you up for a game of "Where's Waldo"? Minus the Waldo and plus a skirt? All right. Here you go then.<br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/33729311@N00/4139864098/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="blank"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2706/4139864098_9e045a78be.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
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Do you see it? If so, good work. <br />
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By the way, also in that picture? The Ghost of Thanksgiving Past. Or possibly my pal Carrie's mom's arm, at low shutter speed. You decide.<br />
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So then. How was <i>your </i>Thanksgiving? I know it was nearly a full week ago at this point, but dwelling on the past is what I do, folks. Timeliness is not always how I roll. So do tell. Any high points or low points for me?Stefaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10128238432671375399noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12047376.post-17671050570058366132009-11-22T23:28:00.000-06:002009-11-22T23:28:43.766-06:00Elsewhere...A couple weeks ago, I drew attention to my lazy blogging of late by saying I'd written only seven posts since July. You know what, though? That was actually a lie. You could say I've been cheating on you. Or rather, cheating on my blog. Or actually, not cheating at all; just spreading the love around. Or something like that. What I'm saying is I <i>have </i>actually written a wee bit more than you've seen here. On Thursday, for instance, I wrote about <a href="http://thegreenists.com/uncategorized/pedalpub-its-slow-fun/4881">that PedalPub outing I took on Halloween</a>. Last month, I wrote about how I <a href="http://thegreenists.com/clothes/vinegar-its-not-just-for-salads-anymore/4669">removed the persistent (albeit unladylike) gym stank from my workout clothes</a>. The month before that, I wrote about the <a href="http://thegreenists.com/beauty/make-your-own-products-party/4548">Shampoo Slumber Party</a> my friend Jamie hosted a while back. And in the midst of my South Dakota road trip, from a motel with free Wi-Fi in Wall, South Dakota, I gave the Internet <a href="http://thegreenists.com/give-it-a-try/rags-are-rad/4371">a glimpse</a> into what dinner looks like at this spinster's abode.<br />
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So you see? I'm actually about 50% more prolific than I appear initially! (It's a weak claim, but I'll make it anyway. I'll even go so far as to argue this short post--hey, it's a short week!--counts as four, four, FOUR posts in one!)<br />
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If you're not already doing so, pop on over to <a href="http://thegreenists.com/">The Greenists</a> every now and then. You never know what (or who!) else you might find there.Stefaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10128238432671375399noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12047376.post-38065734880711415962009-11-16T22:33:00.166-06:002009-11-17T21:18:15.655-06:00Tramampoline!So it turns out the best way to make me not write a post for a fortnight is to say I'm going to write more than one post a fortnight. Blah blah fishcakes; whatever dudes; I've been busy. Or possibly I've been staring at Facebook and Craftster and who knows what else instead of Blogger and Bloglines. We all know I can handle only a finite number of Internet addictions at a time. But no! Seriously! I have had all sorts of stuff going on! I made a skirt. (Two of them, even!) I saved 50 starving kids. (Or so the dude at the place where I put in a measly two hours of time volunteering told us.) I helped my pal Carrie repaint her already freshly painted abode. I baked three times in a week. I finished watching the second season of <i>Mad Men.</i> I bought a toilet. Clearly lots of important stuff going on around here.<br />
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What I have <i>not </i>been doing is taking any more trampoline classes. My month of classes was up a couple weeks ago, and I decided not to pony up for another month just now. But since I am so good at waiting until something is so far gone that we've all nearly forgotten about it before I tell you about it, how's about I do that Q&A right now? Obviously I'm all about timeliness here. It's a special skill, folks. All right; no it's not. But it's how I roll, people. All things in due time. <br />
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So then. <a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2009/10/brevity-is-rarely-my-strong-suit.html">You had questions</a>! I have answers. Actually, you didn't even have all that many questions, so I have supplemented some of your fine questions with a few of my own. Feel free to decide amongst yourselves which are which.<br />
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<b>Q: Trampoline class?!? I didn't even know that existed! Wherever did you hear about such a thing??</b><br />
<b> A:</b> Indirectly, through Facebook, of course. (Seriously, where else; am I right?) A seemingly superhuman acquaintance of mine posted an article about parkour <span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>(Note: <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jquXcwooV6A" target="blank">This kind</a> of parkour, not <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DVPyOL5EK-4" target="blank">the kind</a> Michael, Dwight, and Andy thought they mastered on </i><i>The Office recently)</i></span>. That article linked to a video, which linked to an area gymnastics center that offers parkour and free-running classes, where I saw a link for "Adult Fitness" and decided to see where it led. And lo--trampoline classes! Who knew?? For the record, they also have adult circus skills classes, meaning I could finally learn how to twirl around in the air on long velvet sashes, just like <a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2006/12/friday-five-hand-stamps-burlesque.html">Devotchka's burlesque girls</a>. Maybe I'll try that next year. <br />
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<b>Q: Is it one big trampoline, or does everyone have their own tiny trampoline? Is it one of those little round ones like my mom had in the 80s? (Do you even know what I’m talking about? A “mini-tramp,” if you will?) If it <i>is</i> one of those little round jobs from the 80s, please lie to us.</b><br />
<b>A: </b>I DO remember the mini-tramps! I too am a child of the 80s, and my mom bought one of those as well. The mini-tramp did nothing to quell my trampoline fascination, though. Even as a kid, I knew that little, barely bouncy saucer was NOT A REAL TRAMPOLINE. It almost would have been better to have no trampoline at all than a lame, tiny useless excuse for one. The mini-tramp was a tease. (Which I suppose makes sense. Big, legitimate tramps rarely are, right?)<br />
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<b>Q: So it's a big trampoline, then? </b><br />
<b>A: </b>It is. And there are four of them. We take turns, which is fine, really, seeing as after several minutes, I generally need a break. Which brings me to...<br />
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<b>Q: Is it good exercise? <br />
A: </b>Given that every part of my body was sore for several days after my first class, I'd say that yes, it is. A good portion of that soreness, however, likely came from the set of (spotter-assisted; I'm no She-Ra) pull-ups that a particularly drill sergeant-like woman (who was not even the instructor!) forces everyone to do before they leave the gym each night. I promise that the pull-up woman isn't the reason I decided not to sign on for more classes in November, but I can't say she helped my sticktoitiveness much.<br />
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<b>Q: So, what sort of people take trampoline classes? What was the demographic in that joint?</b><br />
<b>A: </b>It was actually a wider mix than I expected. Some were former gymnasts; some (like me) spent their childhoods <i>wanting </i>to be gymnasts and simply believe that trampolines <i>always </i>equal fun. Some stumbled across the class in a search for low-impact exercise options. And one guy was a strange, round-bellied, late 40-something in a royal blue sweatsuit and sport goggles. I really wanted him to be sort of awesome. Sadly, he was not.<br />
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<b>Q: Have you learned new jumping moves? Do you do flips on it or just jog a little bit? Do you make up routines?</b><br />
<b>A: </b>Yes, sort of, no, and maybe. There are five ways to jump on a trampoline, so we started by learning all of those. If you're curious about that (and I know you are), you can jump on your feet, seat, front, back, and knees. From there, we learned how to link various moves together, and by week two and three, I did a front flip and a back handspring with a spotter. The instructor flattered me by calling me a natural and a fast learner, but I never did master the easy combination they referred to as "The Kindergarten Routine," so the assisted handspring was a weak victory.<b> </b><br />
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<b>Q: Can I come to your trampoline recital? </b><br />
<b>A: </b>Unfortunately, I don't think this gym hosts such a thing. If they did, I'm sure it would exclude quitters, so you still couldn't see me. Hence, no.<b> </b><b> </b><br />
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<b>Q: Do you still want a trampoline in your backyard?</b><br />
<b>A: </b>Of course I do! Trampolines still aren't free, however, and I'm still a 35-year-old childless woman with neighbors, so I don't think I'll be doing anything about that any time soon.<br />
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<b>Q: Are you angling for the Olympic Trampoline Team, because if so, I will see you at the Olympic trials, Missy.</b><br />
<b>A: </b>No, but I <i>may </i>be hatching a not-so-elaborate plan to run away and join the circus. I have a feeling that in the circus, you're still allowed (and perhaps encouraged) to drink wine and stay up late. If <i><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0087774/">Nadia</a> </i>was any indication, the Olympics require far more discipline than I'm willing to hone. That said, is there really an Olympic Trampoline Team? Because I would much rather watch that than that rhythmic gymnastics nonsense.<b> </b><br />
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<b>Q: So that sounds awesome. Why on earth aren't you in class RIGHT NOW?</b><b> </b><br />
<b>A: </b>Well, first of all, because it it not Wednesday. And also because trampoline classes are not free, unfortunately, and because this was one of those pay periods where I paid a few bills, had the crazy and reckless idea to buy groceries, and suddenly had no money left in my checking account at all. Also, since I am collecting reasons and excuses, going to trampoline class involves a bothersome commute down 35W, which is an always annoying stretch of interstate made even more problematic by the array of construction barrels and barricades and constantly shifting exit lanes featured right now. FYI, Minnesota Department of Transportation, I do NOT make a habit of texting, reading, or applying makeup while driving. You really don't need to keep testing me to make sure I'm paying attention, so how about you decide once and for all whether 62 East will be a right or a left exit and just leave it at that, OK? Ahem. I realize this is not L.A. or Atlanta (or for heaven's sake, Baghdad). I could be subjected to far greater trials than a weekly jaunt down 35W. I could also spend my Wednesday nights watching <i>Glee </i>from the comfort of my purple couch and my flannel pajama pants. This month, I choose that.Stefaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10128238432671375399noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12047376.post-30616801802506117502009-11-02T20:02:00.005-06:002009-11-02T23:44:10.464-06:00NaBloNoGoWell, would you look at that? It's November 2 already, which means that after three years of perfect attendance, I have blown <a href="http://www.nablopomo.com/">NaBloPoMo</a> on the VERY FIRST DAY. I'm kidding, obviously. Did you honestly think I was going to do that to myself again this year? If so, you are hilarious. Or possibly, out of touch with reality. Have you not been paying attention to my lazy-ass blogging of late? Seriously: only seven posts since July. SEVEN. Obviously Na<span style="font-weight: bold;">No</span>BloPoMo would be a much more likely calling for me this year.<br /><br />Mind you, I have been keeping busy. I have been taking skirt-making classes and trampoline classes <span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">(whoopsie; I was supposed to write a Q&A about that, wasn't I?)</span></span>, and Saturday I hopped on the nation's only <a href="http://www.pedalpub.com/" target="blank">Pedal Pub</a> and had an absurd amount of ridiculous (admittedly tipsy) fun. And here is where I prove what a lousy blogger I really am lately, because ordinarily this is the point where I would insert some pictures documenting the Halloween Pedal Pub excursion around St. Paul, but because I apparently forgot that I have a blog, I neglected to put those pictures on Flickr and instead housed them only in a not-easily-linkable-to-the-world album on Facebook. Hence, those of you who ARE linked to me there will just have to vouch for the hilarious-looking time I had. Everyone else, pretend the people in some of <a href="http://www.youtube.com/results?search_query=pedal+pub+minneapolis&search_type=&aq=f" target="blank">these videos</a> are my friends <span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">(Note: They are not)</span></span> for a general idea of what transpired.<br /><br />Actually, it is just as well I have no pictures to link to, because I would rather tell you what I am about to tell you accompanied by no photographic evidence to help you speculate. And what I want to tell you is that my still semi-newish friend Melissa is not only kind and funny and an excellent yoga buddy and <a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2009/09/take-sad-song-and-make-it-better.html">travel partner</a> <span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">(scroll to the third-last paragraph if you're going to click that link)</span></span>; she is also a fine, well-matched wing woman for me. Why? Because Melissa indirectly orchestrated the inclusion of two new-to-us single males in this outing, and when I asked, "Are they cute?" she answered, "One of them is..." Fast-forward to Saturday, when, mid-Pedal Pub crawl I asked her, "So, which friend of [so-and-so]'s did you think was cute?" And she answered, "[Dude I personally thought was decidedly less cute]." And when I said, "That's funny. I thought [taller, nerdier dude] was the cute one," she replied, "I thought you might!" It's important to note that neither one of us actually made any progress with either of these strangers, but the fact that our tastes were actually fairly opposite I think bodes well for competition-free single-girl outings henceforth. Hurrah.<br /><br />Following the Pedal Pub, I went to my pal Angela's house, for her now traditional Halloween chili. It was delicious as usual, as were the myriad varieties of cornbread on hand. I brought The Pioneer Woman's <a href="http://thepioneerwoman.com/cooking/2009/10/moist-pumpkin-spice-muffins-with-cream-cheese-frosting/">pumpkin spice muffins (with cream cheese frosting)</a>, which were, like all of her recipes, an undisputed hit. As usual, however, the muffins are gone but a half a bowl of frosting remains, and someone really ought to sneak into my house and remove that from my refrigerator before I spread the rest of it on chocolate chips or Triscuits or a flour tortilla, for lack of any more appropriate frosting vehicle on hand. Oof. Help me.<br /><br />In all, it was a fine Halloween. I think I regained the last of the eight pounds I lost during my recent food poisoning bout <span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">(Crap; did I not write about that either? I'm not sure if that makes me a bad blogger or a good one...)</span></span>, and I also have a giant bruise on my left knee that I have little recollection of having acquired <span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:78%;">(Note: Not just a bruise, but a bruise with a fishnet-stocking patterned scrape atop it. I am not even kidding about that.)</span>. </span>Each of those is a small price to pay, however, for a fun afternoon and evening with friends old and new.<br /><br />So it's November already, and while this year that doesn't mean a post a day from me, I will <span style="font-style: italic;">try </span>to do more than a post a fortnight at least. And I'll get to the trampoline post; I promise. Even not-so-burning questions require answers, I know.Stefaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10128238432671375399noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12047376.post-16181841741715411952009-10-25T21:23:00.009-05:002009-10-25T22:48:17.904-05:00The Boot Camp for Lost BoysI live in a city of over 300,000 people, but in a way, none of us really live in the same city. We see our different parts of it, live our different lives in it. We all have personal landmarks, and they're rarely shared, communal ones. Other people don't drive past the Chatterbox on France and think, "That's where I had what I <span style="font-style: italic;">thought </span>was my <a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2008/12/clearly-this-post-was-just-one-more.html">best date of '08</a>. Man, was I wrong about <span style="font-style: italic;">that.</span>" Other people don't see the Figlio billboard and remember their awkward dinner with a burly guy who not only finished a plate of pasta so enormous it could feed a small village but who roughly stopped the waitress from taking his CLEARLY EMPTY plate by spouting through a mouthful of bread, "No! I'm DIPPING!" And I'm guessing (though I could be wrong, of course) that not a lot of other people think, every time they drive past that big house on Emerson, "Heh. I was deflowered there."<br /><br />I was out with Carrie last night and we found ourselves stopped at the traffic light beside another of my personal landmarks. It was the corner where I had my first (and thus far only) truly <a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2009/03/rest-of-story-because-i-promised-it-to.html">angry, yelly, incredulous breakup</a>. Previously, my only reference point for the restaurant on that corner was that it was the venue for my urban family's second annual Easter Orphans and Heathens Brunch. Now it will always be the place where I stood chastising a soulless, unrepentant manchild in the cold while his new girlfriend watched from a bar stool inside.<br /><br />I'm talking about Jimmy, of course. The pothead. The damn Buddhist. Remember him? Remember what a <a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2009/01/yet-more-proof-that-this-city-is.html">sweet story</a> it <a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2009/01/dont-you-love-it-when-i-say-im-not.html">was originally</a> but how spectacularly it <a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2009/03/and-now-for-total-pick-me-up-post.html">went</a> <a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2009/03/rest-of-story-because-i-promised-it-to.html">awry</a>?<br /><br />I still sort of can't believe that happened. It's absurd, really, and as such, I have to laugh at it. Or maybe not laugh, but at least shake my head and roll my eyes. I'm not angry anymore. I knew I wouldn't be. There's no reason to stay upset over losing a person I'm better off without. But I do still think about him. I do wonder what he's doing. And though I'm not hurt anymore, I'm also not perfect, so when I wonder about him, I'll admit that I hope he's not doing well.<br /><br />It's not [entirely] that I'm bitter. It's that I honestly think the man needs to hit rock bottom. He has been down, yes. He has been broke and destitute. He's even spent the night in a jail cell at least once. But I don't think he's ever really <span style="font-style: italic;">gotten </span>it. I'm not sure he's realized that any of it is his own damn fault. And I don't think it helps that through all of it, he's always had someone saying, "You are awesome, Jimmy. You're a great person." And I think he needs to stop hearing that. Because he is NOT awesome. He is a flake. He is a fuckup. He is a great big irresponsible child. And you know what? Children get reprimanded when their behavior is inappropriate. Children get punished when they misbehave. Jimmy got fired, skipped out on his rent, lied to his friends, and vanished on me, and what was his punishment? Free room and board with a new girlfriend and a free vacation on said new girlfriend's dime.<br /><br />I really didn't mean to go into so long a rant about someone who's worth so little energy. I didn't mean to launch into a similar rant when Carrie and I pulled up to that stop light last night. But Carrie, no stranger to fuckwits and manchildren herself, didn't stop me. No, instead, she joined right in.<br /><br />"It's too bad there's not a boot camp for lost boys," she said. It was a flash of brilliance. Yes! A boot camp for lost boys! We can probably all think of a few candidates for new recruits.<br /><br />"Do you think it would really work as a boot camp, though?" I asked.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Carrie:</span></span> "What do you mean?"<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Me: </span></span>"Boot camp is a short-term program for immediate results. Lost boys are driven by instant gratification, but they've also got short memory spans. We need to shoot for long-term change. It might need to be a reform school."<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Carrie:</span></span> "Yeah. They need to go AWAY. Maybe for a long while."<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Me:</span></span> "Or at the very least, an ongoing outpatient program."<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Carrie:</span></span> "Like social work. They'd be assigned a case number."<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Me:</span></span> "And a case manager. They'd have to report in on their progress. And the case manager would talk to their friends, too."<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Carrie:</span></span> "And their parents!"<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Me:</span></span> "None of that manipulating and revising history and skewing the story to make themselves the victim. The case manager would need context. She'd talk to the people who actually KNOW the guy so she'd know what's really up."<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Carrie:</span></span> "But the lost boys would have to meet with each other regularly, too, right? Like an AA meeting?"<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Me:</span></span> "Definitely. And they'd go around the circle.... <span style="font-style: italic;">I'm Adam. I'm a lost boy. It's been six weeks since my last irresponsible, capricious act.</span> And a chorus of lost boys would reply, <span style="font-style: italic;">Hi, Adam.</span> Oh! And they'd get chips after each milestone!"<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Carrie:</span></span> "Chips? People in AA get chips?"<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Me:</span></span> "It's like a little medallion to mark an accomplishment. 'One month sober,' 'One year sober.' That sort of thing."<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Carrie:</span></span> "Oh, so they wouldn't cash them in for anything... not like poker chips, or skee ball tickets..."<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Me:</span></span> "Ha! No, but that would be awesome. <span style="font-style: italic;">I applied for six jobs this week. Here is my chip. I would like to trade it in for that bottle of Jaegermeister.</span>"<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Carrie:</span></span> "Nooo! We'd have to take their alcohol AWAY, not reward them with it! Their cigarettes, too. Maybe even movies."<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Me:</span></span> "They definitely wouldn't be allowed to watch <span style="font-style: italic;">Swingers </span>or <span style="font-style: italic;">Fight Club </span>or <span style="font-style: italic;">Reservoir Dogs.</span> And nothing that glorifies life as a manchild."<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Carrie:</span></span> "Would there be twelve steps? And the Serenity prayer?"<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Me:</span></span> "They should at least have some sort of creed. <span style="font-style: italic;">I will not be careless with hearts. Or finances.</span>"<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Carrie:</span></span> "<span style="font-style: italic;">I will do no irreparable harm to women.</span>"<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Me:</span></span> "<span style="font-style: italic;">I will take responsibility for my actions.</span>"<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Carrie:</span></span> "We should totally transcribe this conversation and put it on the Internet."<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Me:</span></span> "I'm way ahead of you on that."<br /><br /><br />Of course, gauging success in the lost boys program might be difficult. An alcoholic measures progress in concrete milestones that are easily quantifiable. "I haven't had a drink in thirty days." That's clear cut. Black and white. But "It's been six months since I frustrated a woman to tears in the privacy of her own bedroom"? "It's been two months since my mother silently wondered to herself where she went wrong with me"? These things are harder to verify. Still, it's an idea whose time has come, I say. Any social workers out there looking for a new project?Stefaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10128238432671375399noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12047376.post-69354025098785936212009-10-13T19:12:00.008-05:002009-10-13T22:07:12.796-05:00Brevity is rarely my strong suitSo. Wow. I got nothin'. A full week yet again, and no stories for you? Nope. No stories. Only bullets. Here we go.<br /><ul><li>Saturday I participated in a pub crawl in my neighborhood. Except instead of being called a pub crawl, it was called a pub mosey. I'm still not sure what the difference is between a crawl and a mosey. A mosey would be faster than a crawl, right? I don't think it was any faster, but it did seem more meandery, go-at-your-own-pace than a typical pub crawl. Maybe that's the difference between a crawl and a mosey. Then again, I've never actually participated in an "official" pub crawl, so I may have no idea what I'm talking about and may have based that theory only on the fact that the last crawl I observed whilst out and about involved a "round-up and move on" whistle to keep everybody strictly on task. So maybe I'm just saying the pub mosey was not led by Captain Von Trapp. Is that the difference? Who knows.<br /> <br /></li><li>I really thought that for once my bullet points of randomness would be short ones. I'll work on that.<br /> <br /></li><li>Towards the end of said mosey, I may have made out with a stranger. In public. Because I am klassy like that. And also, apparently, 25. Well done, self. If I tell you he was Australian, that makes it all OK, right? Everything sounds charming and intelligent with an Australian accent. That's a written rule, right? Surely the Australian accent forgives all sins.<br /> <br /></li><li>I realize few things are less interesting than blogging about the weather, but if autumn were a human, I would be filing a Missing Person's Report. We went directly from 80-degree days to furnace-on, sub-40s. It has also snowed two out of the past three days. Snow. In the first half of October. Even for Minnesota, that is absurd, and I am not handling it well. Frankly, I am cranky and depressed and would very much like to hide inside in my yoga pants until the sun comes out again. I am being a petulant four-year-old about it, crying, "No fair" every time I go outside. Fall is my favorite, and early winter is ruining it. Boo.<br /> <br /></li><li>Goodreads informed me via email today that I have been reading David Mitchell's <span style="font-style: italic;">Cloud Atlas </span>for 83 days now. I should probably notify Goodreads (and my sidebar) that I have actually all but completely abandoned <span style="font-style: italic;">Cloud Atlas </span>because it has all but completely bored me nonstop. Has anyone else actually read that one? Can someone tell me why it's gotten such favorable reviews? Because I have given it more than a fair chance, and it has not delivered. Time to <a href="http://booklust.wetpaint.com/page/The+Rule+of+50">listen to Nancy Pearl</a> and move on.<br /> <br /></li><li>Yet another long nearly forgotten member the class of '92 has decided to Facebook-friend me. This time it was my first serious crush of high school, the boy I am a little mortified to remember <a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2006/07/hey-wont-you-play-another-somebody.html">crying over while I listened to Phil Collins's </a><span style="font-style: italic;"><a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2006/07/hey-wont-you-play-another-somebody.html">Groovy Kind of Love</a> </span>on constant repeat. What I neglected to mention when I wrote about him in that "Five songs..." post was that I actually ran into him at a bar in our hometown about ten years ago, at which point I laughed about my ridiculous unrequited crush and he countered by asking me out. For real. As in, "You're not getting out of this bar without agreeing to a date with me." His confidence was almost admirable, given that he was, at the time, working at a factory and still living in his parents' house, but shockingly, his brown eyes didn't have the same hold on me anymore. If his Facebook profile is any indication, his brain wouldn't either. You know how sometimes people say things both happen and don't happen for a reason? How maybe sometimes the greatest gift is an unanswered prayer? Without going into too much detail (i.e., without ripping apart his Facebook page), let's just say I'm really glad that one didn't work out. I'm glad that one never became my first love, or my high school sweetheart, or my first husband. I'm glad of that. Really.<br /> <br /></li><li>Remember how I said I was going to type <span style="font-style: italic;">short </span>bullets? I was lying, obviously.<br /> <br /></li><li>I noticed in the gym locker room today that my kickboxing instructor has the same weird toe thing that I have. Shockingly, my mental goalie blocked something for once, and I did not actually say, "Hey! We're mutant toe sisters!" I am seemingly the only "regular" in that class whose name she does not know. I've thought perhaps I should remedy that with a casual, "I'm Stefanie, by the way" someday. Having her know me as "Stefanie" would be fine with me. Having her know me as "That crazy girl who was looking at my toes" is not.<br /> <br /></li><li>Speaking of classes and bearing toes in public, I am taking a trampoline class! I have been to only one at this point, but so far, it is exactly as fun as it sounds. That is, if jumping on a trampoline for an hour a week sounds fun to you (and <span style="font-style: italic;">WHY WOULDN'T IT???</span>). This is actually probably the most interesting thing in this list so far (to <span style="font-style: italic;">me, </span>anyway), and yet, I have no idea what you might want to know about it. Trampoline class questions, anyone? Let's have a Q&A.<br /></li></ul>Stefaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10128238432671375399noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12047376.post-68038324946817237622009-10-05T22:11:00.009-05:002009-10-06T00:24:15.290-05:00SpoonmanThis just in: Did you know there is some sort of very important football contest on your television right now? I may have almost forgotten, but luckily, 37 of my closest Facebook friends have reminded me. And by "closest," I mean geographically closest, because shockingly, the majority of friends NOT located in either Wisconsin or Minnesota haven't weighed in at all. Truth be told, I don't give half a damn about the outcome of this game. My Wisconsin roots tell me to be loyal to Green Bay, but my nearly twelve years in Minnesota make me wonder if I'm supposed to root for them now instead. <span style="font-style: italic;">(Wait a minute. TWELVE? Really?? How in the hell did THAT happen? Here's another "This just in" newsflash: I am OLD.) </span>Neither my Wisconsin roots nor my Minnesota residency can override the fact that I have only a rudimentary understanding of the game, however, and therefore little interest in rooting for<span style="font-style: italic;"> either </span>side. I will say this, though: it looks awfully strange to see Brett Favre in purple. I know that at least, anyway.<br /><br />And thus ends what is likely the first and just as likely the last time you will see me write about football on this blog. You're welcome.<br /><br />You know who <span style="font-style: italic;">does </span>care about football, though? My dad. I'm sure he is watching Monday Night Football intently this evening, and... Wait. Scratch that. No he's not. He is sitting on his couch with his feet up under the guise of watching the game, but is in fact dozing off with his head back and his mouth open, giant bowl of snacks to his right and giant insulated mug of soda to his left.<br /><br />And when I say "giant," I do mean GIANT. When I was a kid, my standard-sized dad used to fill a standard-sized glass with Coke and bring it with him into the living room to watch TV. Somewhere around my high school years, he started using the jumbo plastic tumblers stashed in the back of my parents' cupboards, and when I came home for holidays in college, he had upgraded to a large insulated travel mug with a lid and handle. I thought that was perhaps the biggest soda vessel he could find, short of pouring an entire two-liter bottle into one of my mom's mixing bowls or an empty ice cream bucket, but lo, I was wrong. When I came home for Christmas last year, he had somehow, somewhere acquired an insulated travel mug that, were it alive, could have eaten three of his previous insulated travel mugs. I saw this travel mug on the bottom shelf of my parents' refrigerator, where they keep gallon containers of milk and orange juice, and it consumed the same amount of shelf real estate as those gallon containers. I don't know where one would even purchase a travel mug this large, but I suspect is in the same place where one would purchase giant sunglasses and other comically large accessories for parties and practical jokes. Do you remember the episode of <span style="font-style: italic;">Seinfeld </span>where Kramer offered lodging to a group of tiny Japanese businessmen, and they each slept in one of his bureau drawers? If Kramer ran out of drawers but had a travel mug like my father's, I'm pretty sure one of those tiny business men could have slept quite comfortably nestled inside that mug. I think you get my point. The mug is LARGE.<br /><br />Please don't ask me why my father routinely needs immediate access to a full gallon of soda at a time. I cannot explain that any more than I can explain why he rolls his window down when he pulls his car into the garage, or why he spreads butter on donuts and cinnamon rolls, or why he has upwards of <a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2005/12/snacks-lies-and-videotape.html">a thousand or more VHS tapes</a> he will never watch again, or why he buys off-brand, nearly expired beef jerky and bagged snacks at the Dollar Store when already he has <a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2005/12/just-your-average-holiday-weekend-i.html">three full cupboards</a> of uneaten snacks at home. Or why, as I <a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2009/09/take-sad-song-and-make-it-better.html">mentioned last week</a>, he brings his own spoon to restaurants. That's right: his own spoon. A few of you asked about that.<br /><br />I don't have any solid answers about the spoon. Again, I think size has something to do with it. At some point, my father decided that the teaspoons in my parents' silverware set weren't large enough to use for soup or ice cream, so he started using the tablespoon-sized spoons in the next compartment of the drawer instead. That's reasonable enough; even in restaurants, they give you a larger spoon for soup than they do to stir your coffee. But when he decided the tablespoon wasn't large enough either, he upgraded to the serving spoons instead. And obviously once you are used to raising your soup to your mouth nearly a ladle-full at a time, you can't be expected to resort to the tiny soup spoons designed for mere mortals when you dine out, so my dad started carrying one of my mom's metal serving spoons in his jacket pocket at all times. Then he fell in love with all-you-can-eat Chinese buffets, where he'd eat his hot & sour or wonton soup with one of those flat-bottomed, white ceramic spoons. And I guess he decided that a short-handled ceramic spoon would fit better in his pocket than a serving spoon, because now he carries one of those around instead. I'm pretty sure he found his at Goodwill or another thrift store he visits regularly and didn't just pocket one from the Chinese buffet, but obviously the man has some strange quirks; I can't guarantee petty theft isn't one of them.<br /><br />So it turns out, I guess I <span style="font-style: italic;">can </span>explain the spoon. But I still can't really <span style="font-style: italic;">explain </span>it. I am an intensely logical person, so I <span style="font-style: italic;">want</span> to understand why my aging parents do the very strange things they do, but I know that some things just aren't meant to be understood. I realize that no matter how baffled I am, I have to make peace with it, knowing that one of the great luxuries of growing old is to be able to indulge in your quirks and idiosyncrasies, to be able to thumb your nose at convention and do whatever you damn well please. Really, if we can't have that, there's almost no point in <span style="font-style: italic;">getting </span>old. With that in mind, I could have a lot of fun trying to decide just what sort of crazy old lady I will one day be.<br /><br />The game is over now, incidentally, and I guess I did have an opinion a little bit, because I was surprised to feel a teensy bit sad when the Packers didn't rally for a last-minute win in the end. So I guess that answers that question, in case there was any doubt. You can take the girl out of Wisconsin, but can't take the Wisconsin out of the girl. Or maybe the gene that favors the Packers is a dominant one. Let's hope some of those other genes aren't.Stefaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10128238432671375399noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12047376.post-41929242425399200222009-09-30T21:25:00.008-05:002009-10-01T11:44:42.295-05:00Take a sad song and make it better<a href="http://www.thecurrent.org/">The radio station I listen to</a> has been celebrating The Beatles all month, in honor of that remastered collection thing that you probably heard about, unless you've been living under a rock or perhaps don't listen to a station that decided to talk about The Beatles all month. Tonight, the whole thing culminated in a countdown of the top 50 Beatles songs, as ranked by listeners. (Or rather, as ranked by the listeners who actually took the time to vote. I did not, but obviously that won't stop me from complaining about the results.) It was a reasonably solid list... not that I am any sort of expert on Beatles discography and therefore qualified to weigh in on this, and maybe the fact that I am <span style="font-style: italic;">not </span>a Beatles expert accounts for my reaction when they played the number 1 song. <span style="font-style: italic;">Hey Jude</span>? Really?? The song that starts out promising enough but then ends with approximately nine and a half gratingly repetitive minutes of "Na, na, na, na-na-na-na! Na-na-na-na! Hey-ay Jude. <span style="font-style: italic;">(JudyJudyJudyJudeJudyJude!)</span>"? That song? Better than all other Beatles songs? OK then.<br /><br />It occurs to me that my dad once voiced that exact same complaint about <span style="font-style: italic;">Hey Jude, </span>so now of course I am terrified I may be turning into my father. Next thing you know, I'll be driving as if every other car on the road is invisible, bringing my own spoon to restaurants, and spouting off about how that Rush Limbaugh really knows what he's talking about. Yeesh. Perish the thought.<br /><br />In truth, I don't really have a problem with <span style="font-style: italic;">Hey Jude, </span>but best Beatles song of all? Hardly. Of course, now I have to tell you what IS the best Beatles song, which is bound to be a bad idea, because at least 96% of you will disagree with me, and at least half of that 96% will actually lose respect for me because of my disturbingly bad choice. Or so I've been led to believe the few times this topic has come up in the past. Some people are serious about their Beatles cred. It may be on par with the pop/soda divide.<br /><br />So I won't tell you what the best Beatles song is. Instead, I will tell you what <span style="font-style: italic;">my favorite </span>Beatles song is. And then I will explain <span style="font-style: italic;">why </span>it is my favorite, in an effort to calm whichever among you will tell me it is not a valid choice.<br /><br />My favorite Beatles song is <span style="font-style: italic;">Yesterday. </span>Not because it is lovely and sad (though it is) and not because I have a scratchy old version of it on a tape that my little sister once dubbed for me--a version that ends with Paul saying, "Thank you, Ringo; that was wonderful," which for some reason makes me smile. My favorite Beatles song is <span style="font-style: italic;">Yesterday</span> because every time I hear it, I remember winding my way up the narrow staircase that circles the interior of Brunelleschi's dome in Il Duomo, the Florence Cathedral. I remember climbing to the top of that dome during the spring break of my semester abroad, with two German boys walking the steps in front of me, singing <span style="font-style: italic;">Yesterday </span>to amuse themselves. Wait. Were they German? They may not have been German. All I remember is that English was not their first language, and as such, one of them mangled the lyrics into something entirely unrecognizable as English words. I know I have mangled some Spanish over the years; I once tried to sing the <span style="font-style: italic;">Tortilla Song </span>that I learned in high school Spanish to a bartender in Cozumel, and though I was confident I was remembering all the words just right, he had no idea whatsoever what I was singing about. Mangled English I'm less familiar with. It's hard to imagine mangled versions of a language you know well. So when I heard the German teenager singing <span style="font-style: italic;">Yesterday </span>and injecting words that were not words, my ears perked up in confusion and surprise. So did the teenager's friend's, because he whirled around immediately to correct him. <span style="font-style: italic;">"Half the man! Half the man!"</span> he sputtered, one hand pounding the other for emphasis. After that chiding, the poor kid <span style="font-style: italic;">looked </span>like half the man he used to be. But still, he kept on singing.<br /><br />So when I hear <span style="font-style: italic;">Yesterday, </span>I think of Florence. I think of exploring new places and learning new things and realizing the simultaneous fear and exhilaration of being in another country and knowing there is no one on the planet who knew exactly where I was at any given moment. And I think of those two boys in Brunelleschi's dome and I wonder what lyrics they are mangling these days.<br /><br />Incidentally, <span style="font-style: italic;">Yesterday </span>came in at #11 on the radio listeners' poll, so obviously I am not the only one for whom that song holds a special place. At #12 was <span style="font-style: italic;">In My Life, </span>which is my second-favorite Beatles song (by a very close margin). I don't have a story to go with that one. I've just always liked it is all.<br /><br />I wasn't actually planning on talking about the Beatles tonight. I certainly wasn't planning on talking about them for seven paragraphs. No, I was going to talk about my second vacation in the course of a month. Remember? I was so overdue for a vacation that I decided to take two? So last weekend was my long weekend in L.A., where it was ridiculously hot and where I saw more of the highways than of anything else (which, as far as I can tell, is about as accurate a picture of L.A. as one can get), but where I had an excellent time with some excellent friends nonetheless. I went to visit Darren and Heather (who some of you may remember from <span style="font-style: italic;">Look at Me...</span> and <span style="font-style: italic;">Nabbalicious</span> fame). I went with my friend Melissa, who lives in Minneapolis but who I had to meet through another blog friend in California (everybody's favorite tech support and car repair guru, <a href="http://stevelyon.com/" target="blank">Steve</a>, who is the reason Heather and Darren know Melissa as well). See what a small world it is? Look at the Internet, bringing people together even after their blogs are long defunct. It's almost like... REAL LIFE. Crazy thought.<br /><br />Anyway, we had a hilarious time. Seriously, I do not remember the last time I laughed so much in a 72-hour span. We went to <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Griffith_Observatory" target="blank">the observatory in Rebel without a Cause</a>. I saw the beach club that served as <span style="font-style: italic;">90210</span>'s Beverly Hill's Beach Club. (Or was it the beach club that everyone worked at on <span style="font-style: italic;">Saved by the Bell</span>? Were they actually the same beach club? My memory of them is the same.) I had my first <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/33729311@N00/3964971602/in/set-72157622353057117/" target="blank">In-n-Out burger</a>. I celebrated <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/33729311@N00/3964193903/in/set-72157622353057117/" target="blank">Guinness's 250th birthday</a>. I lost a bar fight because I <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/chicanerii/3960967885/" target="blank">had only one arm</a>. We had Darren's famous Cincinnati chili and Roscoe's famous <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/33729311@N00/3964985734/in/set-72157622353057117/" target="blank">chicken & waffles</a>. We took pictures of <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/33729311@N00/3964973410/in/set-72157622353057117/" target="blank">creepy statues</a>. And we made more terrible "That's what she said" jokes than Michael Scott has made on all five seasons of <span style="font-style: italic;">The Office </span>thus far. Also, we learned all sorts of interesting things about each other. I learned that <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/33729311@N00/3965001574/" target="blank">Melissa is an exhibitionist</a> and that Heather hates Colonial Williamsburg. (She has a point: Why <span style="font-style: italic;">do </span>Americans need their history safe and spoonfed, like Applebee's and network sitcoms?) In turn, they learned that I spent $18 on a bottle of deodorant, because the Internet told me to.<br /><br />In short, I had so much fun that I don't even mind coming home with a cold that's left me feeling weak and stuffy for days. I probably picked it up on the plane, but since Heather was sick when we got there and Melissa was sick by the time we left, we've decided we must be passing it along to one another in batches, like Amish Friendship Bread. It is the Amish Friendship Cold. Who wants it next, folks? I've got plenty of germs to share, and plenty of Internet friends I'd love to see. Come on over!Stefaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10128238432671375399noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12047376.post-42433097160178933682009-09-20T20:47:00.005-05:002009-09-20T22:50:24.561-05:00Four things that have made me laugh in the past hour<ol><li><a href="http://fullofsnark.com/">Kristabella</a>'s comment on <a href="http://andyouknow.wordpress.com/2009/09/17/important-news-alerts/">-R-'s latest post</a>, in which -R- mentioned preliminary plans for B's first birthday party. <span style="font-style: italic;">(Sidenote #1: How in the H-E-double-hockey-sticks is B nearly a year old already?? Sidenote #2: I totally think a decision on the baked goods is a fully valid starting point for a party theme.)</span> The comment in question? It went something like this:<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"You should do our </span><span style="font-style: italic;" class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1253497679_2">family tradition</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> that we have for 1 year birthdays. You set down a </span><span style="background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; cursor: pointer; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous; font-style: italic;" class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1253497679_3">shot glass</span><span style="font-style: italic;">, a rosary, and a dollar in front of the kid. And then see which one he picks. Shot glass, he’s going to be a drinker. </span><span style="background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; cursor: pointer; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous; font-style: italic;" class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1253497679_4">Rosary</span><span style="font-style: italic;">, he’s going to be a priest/nun. Dollar, he’s going to be rich. I’m pretty sure you can guess which one I picked." </span><br /><br />Those of you who have newborns (or are thinking of acquiring newborns), I do expect you to file this idea away (and provide video evidence once you've used it).<br /><br /></li><li>The fact that I just saw my neighbor peeing from my kitchen window. You see, the window above my kitchen table provides a pretty direct view into the corner of my neighbors' bathroom, which usually doesn't present any problems, given that I rarely eat at my kitchen table (as you know, spinsters more often eat over their kitchen sink or, in my case, on their living room floor in front of the previous night's rerun of <span style="font-style: italic;">The Daily Show</span>). Tonight, however, I happened to be sitting at my kitchen table, and I happened to glance up from my dinner at the exact same time my neighbor glanced over from his pee stance. (I saw him only from the chest up, but it's pretty clear what he was doing regardless.) We made brief, uncomfortable through-the-window eye contact, and I can't decide if I'm amused or skeeved out by it. No, scratch that. Obviously we must go with amused, if for no other reason than hello, I have meandered through my kitchen naked more times than I should admit, and I should just be glad the eye contact happened now and not on one of those occasions. Hee.<br /><br /></li><li><a href="http://sizzlesays.wordpress.com/2009/09/16/amusements/">Sizzle's friends and nephew</a>. I'm telling you, cute kid stories <span style="font-style: italic;">almost </span>make me consider possibly wanting one of those. <span style="font-style: italic;">Almost. </span>Luckily, I have the Internet for a near-constant stream of cute kid stories, minus the perpetual drain on my bank account and the inability to sleep in for the next 937 weekends. I slept nine and a half hours last night, and it was fantastic. Garnering cute kid stories by proxy is fine with me, I say.<br /><br /></li><li>Barry Manilow's <span style="font-style: italic;">Copa Cabana.</span> A Facebook friend just posted a reasonable question as his status update. "Why do I have Manilow's <span style="font-style: italic;">Copa Cabana </span>in my head?" he wondered. I know not, but it reminded me of the semester I spent in Great Britain, during which there was a Manilow-inspired musical playing in London, meaning that every time I rode the escalators in the Tube stations, I saw "Copacabana" posters all around me. Intermittently throughout the entire semester, I had that damn song in my head, and I don't even know the lyrics. So instead, I made up my own. "COPA! Copa Ca-BANA! I think I will HAVE a BANANA! And then I will go to MONTANA!" Try it. I'm telling you, it's<span style="font-style: italic;"></span> fun! My Facebook friend agrees with me, as he followed up my comment with, "It's time to put ON my paJAMAS!" I could keep this up all night. Or, at least until I run out of "-ana" rhymes. Which might actually be now, come to think of it. All right then. Moving on.</li></ol>Incidentally, I am <span style="font-style: italic;">supposed </span>to be writing my next post for <a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://thegreenists.com/">The Greenists</a> (the blog formerly knowns as <span style="font-style: italic;">Allie's Answers</span>) at the moment. But as usual, I am an award-worthy procrastinator and time-waster. I don't actually know anyone who's giving out awards for procrastination and time wasting, but I trust that if you do, you'll pass along my name, right? Meanwhile, I have to be content with <a href="http://flurrious.wordpress.com/2009/09/19/good-evening-hollywood-phoneys/">this award</a>, bestowed by the always brilliant Flurrious, who I'm pretty sure in real life is that famous <a href="http://abcnews.go.com/Technology/story?id=1738881&page=1">Woman Who Can't Forget</a>, because seriously, how many of you would have remembered that I am the keeper of the semicolon?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v467/indigo1874/Blog/stefanie2.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 215px; height: 307px;" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v467/indigo1874/Blog/stefanie2.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Not a lot of you, I would estimate. Flurrious, you crack me up. Which obviously means this post should be titled <span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Five </span></span><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Things that Have Made Me Laugh in the Past Hour, </span></span>but I have already turned off the numbered list formatting, and surely you can't expect me to go back and mess with Blogger's capricious formatting attributes at this point.<br /><br />Tell me... what's amusing <span style="font-style: italic;">you </span>today?Stefaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10128238432671375399noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12047376.post-38564872457166050572009-09-13T22:11:00.004-05:002009-09-13T23:07:09.248-05:00September doesn't officially start until after Labor Day anyway, right?Just maybe not a full <span style="font-style: italic;">week </span>after Labor Day. Whoopsie. Anyway, hello there. Fancy meeting you here. Wait. <span style="font-style: italic;">Is </span>anyone here? It's entirely possible that after such a long hiatus I am now typing into the text-based equivalent of an empty and echo-y cave. The bad news is, perhaps no one is left to hear me. On the plus side, the acoustics are great!<br /><br />So then. August happened, and with it came... Man. What the hell <span style="font-style: italic;">did </span>I do for all of August? I know that time speeds up as we get older, but still I would like a recount on this summer's length. Wasn't it June just two days ago? And now it's all leaves changing and spiced pumpkin lattes and skirt and boot season on its way. Madness.<br /><br />Obviously I could rattle off for you everything I have done in the past month, in inevitably lazy bullet-point format. Frankly, however, August is a blur. I did some stuff. I hung out with some people. I probably had some wine. Most important, I took a vacation! A real one, where I left my house (and hell, the <span style="font-style: italic;">state</span>) for a full week and everything! And it was excellent. I don't know why I don't do that more often. I'm allotted a reasonably adequate number of vacation days, and yet, it had been over <span style="font-style: italic;">three years </span>since I took a solid week of those days at once. That's just wrong, people. WRONG. Must remedy that in all years to come.<br /><br />You may recall that my plan was an old school family vacation, minus the family. Or rather, with <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bridget_Jones">urban family</a>, which if you ask me is a much better way to travel. My pal Carrie and I road tripped it to South Dakota, where they have mountains and rock formations and rattlesnakes, making it feel like an entirely different world that's only one state away.<br /><br />South Dakota was gorgeous, actually, and if you haven't been there yet, I highly recommend you go. Coming from the east, we made the requisite stops along I-90 at the <a href="http://www.cornpalace.com/index.php">Corn Palace</a> (the world's largest bird feeder) and <a href="http://www.walldrug.com/">Wall Drug</a> on the way out, but I suppose you could skip those trivialities (if you must) and proceed directly to the Badlands. You know, the Badlands! Home to an unspecified number of rattlesnakes that I was convinced would be our undoing. I mean, I suppose I didn't really think a rattlesnake would bite me and I would <span style="font-style: italic;">DIE, </span>but I do admit I was convinced there would at least be a harrowing but ultimately harmless run-in of some sort, not unlike the late night tarantula scare in the motel room when the Brady Bunch went to Hawaii.<br /><br />Seriously, people, after talking to a NOT HELPFUL friend of Carrie's who had me convinced we would camp in the Badlands only if we had a death wish (his exact words: "They don't call it the GOODlands, you know!"), I was so convinced there would be rattlesnakes at our campsite that I did what any normal person (read: Internet addict who believes Google is the new Magic 8 Ball) would do. I Googled "Badlands camping death." And you know what? No matching suggestions appeared in that little drop-down list as I typed! No valid results returned! Clearly that meant all would be fine, and luckily, Google was right! As far as I'm concerned, the Badlands are full of grasshoppers, prairie dogs, and more than the occasional buffalo, but rattlesnakes? The Badlands are fresh out! Whew.<br /><br />I was going to do a little photo essay of various highlights of my trip, but you know what? That shit takes time, yo, and if I sidetrack myself with a project like that, I may not hit that "Publish Post" button <span style="font-style: italic;">this </span>week either. So how about you just pop on over to <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/33729311@N00/sets/72157622202418858/" target="blank">this Flickr set</a> if you feel so inclined, and just imagine my witty commentary interspersed between ten or fifteen hand-picked shots? I mean really; do I have to do <span style="font-style: italic;">everything?</span> Oh. Right. This is <span style="font-style: italic;">my </span>blog. So yes, I suppose I do.<br /><br />Moving on. Vacation was definitely the highlight of my August, but there were other victories as well. Like my <a href="http://brightyellowworld.com/2009/08/22/winners/">winning a new pair of jeans</a> in Abbersnail's <a href="http://brightyellowworld.com/2009/08/18/an-invitation-to-the-pants-party/">Gap-tastic Pants Party</a>! Whee! If I didn't know any better, I'd think my friends got together and somehow rigged that contest to declare me a winner, just so they could finally see me in something other than the four identical pairs of Mossimo jeans from Target I've been wearing for three years now. I do need a jeans upgrade, I'm well aware, so I entered Abbersnail's contest with the plea, "Help me, Abby-wan. You're my only hope!" And help me she did. Hurrah.<br /><br />So I have new pants. Or, I <span style="font-style: italic;">will </span>have, once I get myself to a Gap to pick them out. On an entirely different note, what I do NOT have is home-grown tomatoes. Friends, if this one first attempt can be considered a fair measure for future success, I'm going to have to say that gardening is not for me. I am pretty sure tomato season is officially over, and from my stubborn and temperamental <a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2009/07/just-doing-my-part-to-give-last.html">stoop-side tomato plants</a>, I got a mere handful of not particularly delicious cherry tomatoes and exactly ZERO beefsteaks. I <span style="font-style: italic;">should </span>have had at least a few, but the damn squirrels got to every one of them just before they were ripe enough to pick. Bastards. When they're not <a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2009/07/and-i-thought-last-one-would-have-made.html">dying in my yard</a>, they're stealing the literal fruits of my labors. (That is, if watering a plant every day can be considered "labor.") So I guess I'll have to continue <span style="font-style: italic;">buying </span>tomatoes like a common 21st-century capitalist. I should have learned years ago that a successful pioneer woman I am not. I've never been a quick study, obviously.<br /><br />I'm sure other things happened in August, too, but as I said, it's a blur. So that brings us to September, in which, thus far, I have survived a visit from my family, had an uneventful trip to the dentist, went to the <a href="http://www.myspace.com/markmallman">quirkiest show</a> I've seen in a long time, and made my first quiche. (Note: I still don't love eggs, but it was delicious.) Oh, and today I took an invigorating late summer bike ride that was altogether lovely and perfect aside from the droves of gnats on a mile or so patch of the river-side trail. I have already showered off the ones that awesomely plastered themselves inside my sports bra, but if I find any in my teeth when I floss tonight, I may be too horrified to bike near a river ever again.<br /><br />And on that note, I shall leave you, because there's no better way to say "Thanks for reading after I abandoned you for a month" than to end with an image like that. You're welcome.<br /><br />And what have all of <span style="font-style: italic;">you </span>been up to not-so-recently?Stefaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10128238432671375399noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12047376.post-55058106704344630942009-08-10T21:46:00.005-05:002009-08-10T23:26:55.073-05:00As a matter of fact, I WOULD jump off a bridge, if Flurrious told me toNo need to send out a search party; I am alive and well. Or, alive, anyway, and mostly well, but feeling persistently disgruntled for possibly no good reason, that being the fact that I am TIRED and life is hard, yo, at least when suddenly forced to live it like a proper grown-up, with a full schedule and commensurate responsibilities and so forth. I told a good friend in an email recently that I was feeling unusually busy lately, and that I've missed my sitting-around time. I really am quite excellent at wasting large chunks of time, and for a while there, I was doing so only at work, not at home. It's good to have a proper work/life balance, after all. <span style="font-style: italic;">My </span>preferred way to restore that balance would have been to free my social schedule and to-do list for a while and hole myself up with two seasons' worth of <span style="font-style: italic;">Mad Men </span>DVDs. The people who direct-deposit my paycheck had other ideas, however, and instead of my scaling back on the off-hours activity, they have upped my 8-to-5 responsibilities significantly. Rather, make that <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">7</span><span style="font-style: italic;">-</span>to-5, because it turns out being a responsible, professionally employed grown-up means not just doing valid and work-related activities all day long with no breaks for idle internetting, but also occasionally starting that day at the ungodly hour of 7:00 am. (The horror!) At 7:00 am, I would much prefer to be still soundly sleeping, but in the interest of remaining gainfully employed in a job I occasionally enjoy, I will consent to having pried myself out of bed and be toweling off from a shower right around that hour. Being expected at a meeting 30 minutes from my home at 7:00 am, however? Fully dressed and alert and in business-ready mode? I did <span style="font-style: italic;">not </span>realize that was part of the deal. Oh my.<br /><br />This is a long and roundabout, excuse-laden way of saying I am tempted to follow <a href="http://flurrious.wordpress.com/2009/08/03/no-really-like-twenty-minutes/">Flurrious's lead</a> and give myself official permission to ignore my blog for the remainder of August. Writing here is supposed to be something I do because I enjoy it, not something I do because it is the longest-neglected thing at the bottom of my to-do list. A blog is just a blog, and neglecting it should not instill any particular guilt, but I was raised Catholic; unwarranted guilt is standard operating procedure for me.<br /><br />Before I vanish again, I suppose could tell you what I've been up to since you heard from me last. Let's see. Well, I enjoyed another summer pilgrimage to the magical <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/33729311@N00/sets/72157601839800312/">Pizza Farm</a>, I made my first flan, I kissed a 27-year-old stranger (for no better reason than that he asked), I unintentionally alienated someone who is supposed to be one of my closest friends, and I came three steps closer to finally finishing a hand-made birthday gift that is now nearly a full year overdue. (Note: I am not necessarily proud of any of these accomplishments, but am significantly less proud of some than of others.) Also, I failed to solidify any actual plans for my upcoming vacation, but there is some benefit and excitement to the fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants mode of leisure travel, so I see no reason fret to any degree about that.<br /><br />Of course, now that I have given myself permission to check out until Labor Day, I will probably find myself logging in with something amusing-only-to-me to say in less than two days' time. Perhaps I will and perhaps I won't. Midwestern Girl of Mystery; that's me.Stefaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10128238432671375399noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12047376.post-18739185409592690502009-07-30T22:44:00.006-05:002009-07-30T23:45:26.539-05:00FoodstuffsI know most of you don't know my good friend Carrie, but is anyone curious how she fared in the <span style="font-style: italic;">Julie & Julia </span>cooking contest <a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2009/07/post-lets.html">I mentioned</a>? She won! Well, she won <span style="font-style: italic;">second </span>place, which is still awesome, of course (she got to take home an excellent set of brand-new cookware), but honestly, I was so shocked she did not win the grand prize that I almost forgot to clap when they announced her name as the runner-up. No, seriously. Whoops. It's times like that when I fear I would be a terrible parent. Or an excellent one, I suppose, depending on your perspective.<br /><br />I am fairly certain it was the first place winner's sparkling Rachel Ray smile and gaggle of small, seemingly adorable children and <span style="font-style: italic;">not </span>her any-more-stellar-than-Carrie's chicken salad that secured her the grand prize. Which, incidentally, trust me: if the judges had been sitting directly in front of those children, they would not have been deemed so precious. Little treasures, I am sure, but they could not get their high-pitched squeals and their grabby little hands away from me quickly enough. But that is neither here nor there. I wish the winner and her enormous family all the best, and I shall move on before I say anything else that would put me squarely back in that "terrible parent" camp.<br /><br />After the contest, I got to accompany Carrie to an advance screening of <span style="font-style: italic;">Julie & Julia, </span>which you really must see as soon as you are able, because it is beautiful and charming and might make even the likes of ME think it's a good idea to try my hand at French cooking. (Definitely not <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aspic">aspics</a> or some crazy pastry-wrapped deboned duck, but perhaps a beef stew or pear tart. Maybe.) Meryl Streep is radiant, of course, and Amy Adams is adorable as always, and I almost don't even want to paste in <a href="http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/julie_and_julia/">the link for this movie that I just went to find</a>, because I cannot believe Rotten Tomatoes currently deems it worthy of only a 20% rating. 20% means it is "Rotten," and that I simply do not understand. Granted, only five reviews have been counted thus far, but did those five reviewers see the same movie I did?? I'm perplexed.<br /><br />In other food news, I have <a href="http://alliesanswers.com/uncategorized/building-a-better-and-greener-burrito/4180">a post</a> up at <span style="font-style: italic;">Allie's Answers </span>today. That shouldn't be food news, since my assigned beat on that site is environmentally friendly cleaning products, but rules were meant to be broken and beats were meant to be veered from. Or so I decided after I got a tour and a free meal at a nearby Chipotle recently and felt compelled to write about it. Yes, my guest post is about Chipotle. I should warn you that if you <a href="http://alliesanswers.com/uncategorized/building-a-better-and-greener-burrito/4180">click over</a>, you may be unable to avoid taking yourself to Chipotle for lunch. Don't blame me; blame the accompanying photo Courtney found. Seriously, I need to close that Firefox tab immediately because if I look at that delicious burrito one more time there is no way I'm getting to bed without a snack. Yum.<br /><br />And finally, this has nothing to do with food, but I found out today that I will be working on a short-term project with a former co-worker for the next two weeks. This project involves pretending I know how to use a tool I last saw three years and probably two software versions ago, but <span style="font-style: italic;">I</span> am a <span style="font-style: italic;">professional!</span> I can DO this, right? Wish me luck. This also means that instead of pulling on a pair of jeans and driving across the suburbs to my very far away office tomorrow morning, I shall be putting on a dress and going <span style="font-style: italic;">downtown!</span> Just like a real grown-up. Actually, this means that my commute will be an awesome 4.1 miles instead of the usual 25, but given that it's 4.1 miles of stop lights and downtown rush hour traffic, I'm unsure whether the time savings will be at all notable. I shall see.<br /><br />And with that, I should get myself to bed, so that I can actually <span style="font-style: italic;">be </span>a responsible and professional grown-up in the bright and early morning hours. Is it me, or does it feel like Monday was somehow simultaneously just a moment ago and also a hundred years ago right now? This week has been a blur, and I don't even have alcohol or an unusual flurry of activity to blame. Go figure. Happy weekend, all.Stefaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10128238432671375399noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12047376.post-75109326030040800952009-07-26T21:32:00.003-05:002009-07-26T23:40:22.633-05:00Post-lets*<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">* (Not to be confused with Post-its, which are both trademarked and not particularly relevant here.)</span></span><br /><br />~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Trading Places</span><br /><br />Yesterday I started my lawn mower on the FIRST PULL for quite likely the very first time ever. This victory comes on the tails of my excitement over free wine and free concert tickets, and I am convinced it is a sign that good things are afoot. Not just for me, either, but for those around me, too. My pal <a href="http://ediblecities.wordpress.com/">Carrie</a> is a finalist in a cooking contest this week, and even my friend Eeyore <span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">(not his real name, of course, but a nickname given due to the gray rain cloud of misfortune that persistently follows him)</span></span> is feeling convinced that his luck is turning. More specifically, he is convinced that his bad luck somehow transferred to the roofer who fell off his house while working on it recently. I saw this happen in <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0397078/">a movie</a> once, so obviously it must be possible in real life, too. Of course, in the movie, Lindsay Lohan's luck changed for the worse when she kissed a masked stranger, and as Eeyore assures me he did not make out with his roofer, some other mystical switcheroo must have transpired. Regardless, it's a lovely thing to feel the universe is giving me and mine a gentle pat on the shoulder rather than a swift kick in the rear, and I am hoping it means this August will be decidedly less craptastic and sucktacular than usual. One can dream.<span style="font-style: italic;"></span><br /><br />~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Analog Girl in a Digital World<br /><br /></span>That cooking contest Carrie's in? It also includes an appearance on the local news tomorrow morning. I'll be at work by the time it airs, so I set my VCR to capture her TV debut. Yes, I said VCR, which I know is a foreign and archaic gadget to most of you but which still works just fine for me. I didn't even realize until recently how few people still use VCRs, so oblivious and ambivalent am I about acquiring new technologies. Tonight, I had dinner with <a href="http://stevelyon.com/">Steve</a> <span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">(you know--my </span><a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2009/03/tonight-im-gonna-party-like-its-2002.html">laptop benefactor</a><span style="font-style: italic;"> and </span><a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2008/08/oh-no-not-this-again.html">car repair consultant</a><span style="font-style: italic;">) </span></span>and his lovely girlfriend, and she laughed and said, "You're kidding, right?" when I mentioned programming the VCR. No, I was not kidding, though Steve's girlfriend isn't the only one who thinks VCRs have long gone the way of the laserdisc. I texted Carrie earlier to let her know I'd be taping the show, and it turns out "VCR" isn't in the T9 texting dictionary, either. Of course, the T9 texting dictionary is also missing other key words in my lexicon ("fucking" becomes "ducking" and "Stef" becomes "Puff," to name just two key examples), so maybe T9's vocabulary is what's lacking and not my home technology. Or so I shall tell myself while I'm winding my clocks and hand-wringing my laundry.<br /><br />~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Must Love Dogs (or Rather, the Dog Must Love ME)</span><br /><br />I am a huge fan neither of children nor of dogs, and yet, I get an instant warm, happy feeling when someone tells me that their child or their dog likes me. Why? I don't know. Because people who <span style="font-style: italic;">do </span>like dogs and children have told me that dogs and children are excellent judges of character and I want to believe that the dog or child is right? Because I believe that if someone's child or dog likes me, that person is more apt to like me as well? I do not know, but there you go. Thing that makes me smile for no real reason #142. "Stuff you never knew about Stefanie for $200, Alex." Moving on now. Right.<br /><br />~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Backhanded Compliments</span><br /><br />Tonight when I ordered my tiki drink, the waitress carded me, which isn't so strange, given that lots of places have a "We card <span style="font-style: italic;">everyone</span>" policy. Hence, no commentary was needed, and yet? The waitress looked at my ID, handed it back to me, and said, "You must have really good skin care. You look a lot younger than you are!" Which, OK, thanks. Lovely of you to say so, miss. Except wait a minute. Did you just call me old? I sort of think she did. Sigh.<br /><br />~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">I also like "Interplanetary" and "Poughkeepsie," but those are probably harder to work into a name<br /><br /></span>In the past year or so, I've noticed a number of bands with one word in their name in common become a band-of-the-moment at essentially the same time. Eagles of Death Metal got fairly frequent airplay around the same time as Department of Eagles entered the scene. Ladytron, Lady Sovereign, and Ladyhawke have all had hits in simultaneous rotation. And lately, I thought I'd found another one: Animal Collective showing up at the same time as Cage the Animals. Except I realized this evening that it's not actually Cage the Animals; it's Cage the Elephant. Regardless, if this isn't a deliberate marketing tactic, then perhaps it should be. It seems to be working quite well. I am wondering what the next word to link two or more band names might be. I am sort of hoping for "Yeti." Record executives, take note.Stefaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10128238432671375399noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12047376.post-17905659573519137102009-07-22T21:08:00.009-05:002009-07-23T09:10:35.416-05:00I'm not dead, but apparently I want to talk about what would happen if I wereSeeing as I'm single, I live alone, and I am occasionally morbid, I sometimes wonder how long it would take for anyone to notice and investigate if I went missing or broke my neck going down my stairs. If it happened on a week night, there is a good chance my boss would notice my absence within a day and track down my sister or my parents to investigate. I say merely "good chance" because my boss and I work in offices that are only approximately 30 feet away from one another, but as neither of us is exactly a wandering social butterfly at work, those 30 feet are apparently an insurmountable distance to cross unless absolutely necessary, and we often go full days without actually seeing each other's face. If I went missing or dead on one of those days, or perhaps over a long weekend, it is a bit unsettling to me to think how long it might go unnoticed. I can't decide if I should feel lucky I do not have any pets, as it ensures no animal (save maybe <a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2009/05/maybe-helpful-gnome-who-fixed-my-shovel.html">Samsa</a>) will eat my face off before the medical examiner arrives, or if I should run out and acquire a pet post haste, knowing said pet might be so helpful as to do away with my remains in a tidy manner before any truly vile decomposition sets in.<br /><br />Luckily, I may not have to worry about any of these scenarios, because lo, I have the Internets. And the Neighborhood Watch Group in my corner of the Internets (by which I mean <a href="http://3carnations.blogspot.com/">3Carnations</a>) totally has my back. It took a mere week of no Internet activity this time for 3Carnations to send me an email making sure I'm still alive. I could survive a week with no food or water lying on my basement floor with a broken neck, right? She could totally have sent help in time? What's that? No? Well then. 3Cs, maybe <span style="font-style: italic;">this </span>is the reason you should join Facebook: the ability to keep closer tabs on me and provide more prompt follow-up in case of my demise.<br /><br />At any rate, I am fine. I always think I will have more time for blog reading and writing in the summer, given that there is nothing good on TV to distract me, but I forget that in the summer, I am much less averse to leaving my house in the evening hours, what with the lack of total darkness and bitter cold that thwarts any ambition to combat hermitude during winter months.<br /><br />So I have simply been busy lately. What have I been up to? Well, let's see.<br /><br />I picked up and thereafter sampled <a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2009/07/just-doing-my-part-to-give-last.html">my free wine</a>. I will say, for Chardonnay, it is not half bad. I might even go so far as to say that for Chardonnay, it is delicious. It was also free, and it's hard to argue with that.<br /><br />Of course, it would have been far too fiscally responsible of me to walk out with my 12 free bottles of white wine without also spending some money on red. The summer wine sale is in progress, and I cannot see my favorites priced at $6, $7, and $8 a bottle and not do some stocking up. I bought six bottles and yet, I sort of want to go back and buy six more. People, there are BARGAINS in store! It pays to buy in bulk! I have never once felt the urge to acquire a Costco or Sam's Club membership in order to stockpile toilet paper or Ramen noodles, but where alcohol is concerned, apparently I am all about economies of scale. My logic knows no bounds. My priorities not remotely flawed.<br /><br />Moving on. What else has happened recently? Well, it finally rained. It rained right in the middle of the outdoor viewing of <span style="font-style: italic;">Cat on a Hot Tin Roof</span> that I attended, but it rained nonetheless. Also, one (just one!) of my cherry tomatoes has turned nearly red. I think that had more to do with luck or fertilizer than with rain, but the rain is welcome in any case. Neither the rain nor the fertilizer has saved my Big Beef tomatoes, unfortunately. Today, the most promising-looking one of those somehow entirely disappeared. I stared at my tomato plants for a full two minutes pondering its sudden absence. Whatever animal, neighbor, or lawn gnome took off with it was probably watching me, laughing, the whole time.<br /><br />In more interesting news, I attended four shows in six days. I am totally a Girl About Town. The last of those was a semi-secret, semi-private Jenny Lewis show that I scored free tickets to on my way out of another show. It was sponsored by Target and Converse, meaning it was very corporatey and logo-laden, but we had a lovely time nonetheless. Plus, I got a free girly red martini in a blinking martini glass, and nothing says "Fun" like a blinking martini, no? You like blinking lights, don't you? (Like the one on the waffle iron. Or the little guy on the Don't Walk sign. I may be tired and losing my focus here, but somebody <span style="font-style: italic;">please </span>get that reference.)<br /><br />Also, I planned two vacations. Actually, not so much "planned" as "committed to." And this may have happened before my last post and I just neglected to mention it until now. I did say I was overdue for a vacation. Apparently my remedy for that is to take two. Hurrah! First up is a week-long road trip to the Badlands, etc. (South Dakota tips, anyone?) Then in September it's a long weekend in L.A. Unlike my <a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2009/02/all-right-fine-pictures.html">last trip</a> out of the state, neither of these will be with my coworkers. Mexico may beat South Dakota on most people's list of hot spots worth visiting, but being able to return from vacation without saying, "Huh. Haven't been in this office for a while, and yet, I just saw <span style="font-style: italic;">YOU </span>yesterday!" ranks pretty high on my list. I can't wait.<br /><br />And finally, in less exciting news, I have developed an awesome case of insomnia. Oh man, it is the best. Know what's even better than feeling tired and headachey and nauseated all day because you have a hangover? Feeling tired and headachey and nauseated all day without even having had the fun of an irresponsible bender the night before to warrant it. As I type away right now, my head is heavy, my eyelids are drooping, and yet, like magic, I am certain the moment my head hits my pillow, I will be wide awake, ready to tackle all the world's problems (or at least, ponder incessantly the most trivial of my own). If you have any remedies or suggestions for this dilemma, I would love to hear them. Partying like a rock star is one thing. Looking and feeling as though I've partied like one without having done any actual partying is quite another. Yawn.Stefaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10128238432671375399noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12047376.post-5937365342804024752009-07-15T21:42:00.008-05:002009-07-16T09:34:46.701-05:00Just doing my part to give the last Facebook holdouts one more reason to joinFirst up, a few updates, because giving you even more information about things you probably weren't riveted by the first time sounds like an excellent idea, no? Some people tell worthwhile, NEW stories! That is not how I roll.<br /><br />So, shockingly, I have yet to hear anything from the charming Josh Ritter, despite how many times I included his name <a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2009/07/and-i-thought-last-one-would-have-made.html">in that last post</a> for the Google-bots to find. I did not even see any Ritter-related search activity in my referrals list this week. It seems I have overestimated the appeal that vanity-Googling holds for celebrities. Maybe stars really <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">aren't </span>just like us after all.<br /><br />While Josh Ritter hasn't found his way to my blog in search of a new girlfriend, however, it seems other people think I may be some sort of authority on celebrity relationships. (Hint: I am not.) I do not know if Martin Zellar is still married, nor do I have any idea if Alanis Morissette and Jim Creegan have been romantically linked. (I <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">do </span>know they are both Canadian, but nobody is Googling that today.) I hope those particular searchers found what they were looking for, because I am certain they did not find it here.<br /><br />In other news, I am pleased to report that the <a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2009/07/and-i-thought-last-one-would-have-made.html">dead squirrel</a> count, for now, still rests at two. I remain suspicious, however, as does my neighbor, who is just as baffled as I am why two squirrels would go belly-up within a ten-foot radius of one another in the same month. His first theory was that some plant in his yard might be poisoning them. This is not the first time he's proven to be a more rational thinker than I am, because <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">my </span>first theory was that my yard is, for some reason, the squirrel population's answer to <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/A_Long_Way_Down">Topper's House</a>. Poor, down-on-their luck squirrels are coming from all corners of the neighborhood just to off themselves in my yard. Why? I cannot say. But in lieu of my sprinkling squirrel-sized portions of Prozac in the vicinity, I do hope they find an alternate suicide spot soon.<br /><br />I realize this is an unlikely explanation, of course, but it is no more absurd than the one I came up with the following day. Looking out my kitchen window, I noticed that the rabbit who lives in my yard was eyeing a squirrel with more focused malevolence than seemed normal or warranted, and I decided perhaps Thumper (as the elderly woman next door calls him) was to blame for the squirrel carnage. It's probably ridiculous to theorize that a descendant of the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rabbit_of_Caerbannog">Killer Rabbit of Caerbannog</a> might be living in my backyard, but that explanation <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">would </span>help me feel a bit less guilty about occasionally wanting to pour cement into the two large holes he's dug in my lawn.<br /><br />Next up, <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">more </span>about my yard. Or rather, the things growing in and near it. <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">(Wait! Where are you going?? I need your help here!) </span>Do you remember how excited I was when I <a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2009/06/in-which-i-finally-show-you-what-ive.html">saw little green balls of promise</a> pop up on the tomato plants I bought? I should have <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">known </span>it would not be that easy. Given that nearly every plant that's ever been entrusted to me has at least half-withered under my care, it should have been <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">obvious </span>that my optimism about those tomatoes was entirely premature. Look at my sad tomato plants now! The leaves at the bottom keep turning yellow! The leaves at the top have all but disappeared! People, what has happened to my tomato-related hopes and dreams?!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v467/indigo1874/Blog/IMG_5306.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: pointer" alt="" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v467/indigo1874/Blog/IMG_5306.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I have asked my friend Google what causes yellowing of tomato plant leaves, and shockingly, Google was of exactly zero help. Yellow leaves could mean that I am overwatering or that I am underwatering. They could be a sign that the soil doesn't have enough nitrogen, or enough calcium, or that my poor plants have fallen to some insect or disease.<br /><br />Surely<span style="FONT-STYLE: italic"> </span>several of you know more about gardening than I do. Tell me, how do I know which is to blame?!? With all of those options, I have no clue how to troubleshoot. I feel like Rick Moranis in <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">Little Shop of Horrors, </span><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gVSTHylbtXk">pleading in song for sickly little Audrey 2 to grow</a>. <span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">(Come on, you remember that one: "I've tried you in levels of moisture from desert to mud! I've given you grow-lights and mineral supplements; what do you want from me, blood?!?")</span></span> I do want results from these tomato plants, but at what price? I draw the line at opening a vein for them.<br /><br />Of course, with that thought, it suddenly occurs to me that my tomato plants are actually rather close to where the last squirrel was attacked. Maybe these tomato plants ARE blood thirsty. That would solve two mysteries in one! My sometimes flimsy grasp on reality hasn't failed me entirely, however. So who has a more likely explanation for me?<br /><br />And finally, on a happier, more pleasant note, I am a winner! A few weeks ago, I entered a contest that my favorite liquor store held on their Facebook page. Their fans were to each leave a comment saying what they love about the store, and there would later be a drawing to award someone a free case of Chardonnay. This afternoon, I received an email from the store. Hurrah; I WON! Whee! Ideally, the prize would be a case of <a href="http://www.wisdom4winos.com/2009/03/folie-deax-menage-trois-red-origin.html">Folie à Deux Menage a Trois Red</a> rather than Finnegan's Lake Chardonnay, but winners can't be choosers, after all. <span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">(Wait. That's not how the saying goes...)</span></span> So I will have to have a Chardonnay party. Or, perhaps, all of my friends will be getting Chardonnay for Christmas. Or, you know, I could just accept that it is summer and be a more frequent friend to whites. In any case, there is a lesson here: lead with your strengths and stick with what you know. My gardening attempts = epic fail. With liquor<span style="FONT-STYLE: italic;font-size:85%;" > (and Facebook)</span>, I win!Stefaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10128238432671375399noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12047376.post-39054515048276411842009-07-10T20:18:00.004-05:002009-07-10T22:50:45.765-05:00And I thought the last one would have made a good imaginary "How we met" story...People, I have a situation. It's not a pretty one. I am typing at the moment from a chair in my front yard, not because I enjoy putting myself on display for my neighborhood, all, "Hey, look at me! I am a single woman with nothing better to do on a Friday night than sit outside with a glass of wine and a laptop!" but because I am too horrified to tuck myself away unnoticed in my backyard.<br /><br />It seems having a squirrel give up the ghost in my backyard wasn't a one-time thing. There must be some sort of anti-squirrel predator or force field in the area between my neighbor's fence and my back walkway, because another dead squirrel is now lying only about five feet away from where <a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2009/06/when-i-ran-spell-check-on-this-blogger.html">the previous one went belly up</a>. This one is on <span style="font-style: italic;">my </span>property, so I don't feel particularly right <a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2009/06/when-i-ran-spell-check-on-this-blogger.html">asking my neighbor to remove it for me</a>. Unfortunately, it's also much more vile than the previous one. Suddenly I'm not sure why I was so terrified to deal with that first squirrel, because I realize now that I would have rather touched <span style="font-style: italic;">that </span>one with my bare hands than scoop the scattered remains of this one up even with a ten-foot-long shovel. I'm really trying to spare you the graphic details. I'm failing, so I'd better just move on.<br /><br />And oh, look at that. I left my post for five minutes to duck back in my house, and now there is a bug in my wine glass. Fantastic. Bugs in my wine, crows circling overhead, flies swarming in on a revolting target a mere 30 feet away... Perhaps outdoor blogging isn't as appealing as I thought it might be. Think I'll move this party back inside after all.<br /><br />So then. Focusing on more pleasant thoughts. Last night <a href="http://www.myspace.com/joshritter">Josh Ritter</a> was in town, so Carrie and I went to the Varsity Theater to see one of our favorite (Carrie went so far as to say "the <span style="font-style: italic;">original</span>") Boy Meets Guitar. Our pal Lisa was supposed to join us, but unfortunately she had a doctor's appointment earlier in the day that unexpectedly ended with a staple being deliberately put in her head (ouch), and I can't particularly blame her for not feeling up to a concert night after that. (Look at me; I have finally veered away from dead rodents and now I am talking about surgical staples. Aren't you glad you clicked this link in your feed reader today?)<br /><br />ANYWAY, as usual, Josh did not disappoint. I've already told this story once, but it was <a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2007/10/its-late-and-im-title-less-and-all-i.html">two years ago</a>, so allow me to tell you again what's so very special about this boy. The first time I saw him, it was amid a crowd of fewer than 40 people, many of whom had probably wandered into the club having no idea who they were going to see, taking the chance that their $5 cover charge would not be a bust. Lisa and I were there on Carrie's recommendation. She was living in Chicago at the time, and she emailed us to say that a dude worth seeing was coming to our town, and we should go to his show. So we went, and we liked what we heard, and after the show, Josh milled about selling CDs and handing out promotional postcards, so we talked to him for a bit. Despite the small crowd, Josh was thrilled that we were there. "Thank you SO MUCH for coming!" he gushed. "How did you hear about the show?" When we told him our friend in Chicago had recommended it, he wanted to sign a postcard for her. But he didn't just sign it; he thanked her for sending us, and he wrote, "Stefanie is gorgeous, and Lisa is the belle of the ball!" We were both smitten. "I've never <span style="font-style: italic;">been </span>the belle of the ball before!" Lisa said. The boy was just a young pup at the time, but he knew how to charm the ladies.<br /><br />Since then, I've seen Josh nearly every time he's come to town, and each time, the crowd is larger and more dedicated. He's now successful enough that there are Josh Ritter tribute bands (in Ireland, apparently), but he's still just as grateful someone's there to listen. That wide-eyed enthusiasm hasn't faded; the grin on his face has only grown wider. I suppose it's <span style="font-style: italic;">possible </span>that underneath that stage presence, he is an insufferable diva, a volatile force I would never want to know in person, but I don't want to believe that is the case. As far as I am concerned, he is a nice boy from Idaho who says "Please" and "Thank you," who, despite his success, is still sort of awe-struck that people will actually pay money to come and hear him play, to see him do what presumably he loves best.<br /><br />It's hard to watch him and not develop a bit of a crush, and Carrie and I are certainly not immune. Last night's show was at the same venue where I met <a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2009/04/im-still-alive.html">the MPR reporter</a> as a discussion panelist, so Carrie turned to me mid-set and said, "I think you should make a habit of picking up anyone you see on the stage at the Varsity."<br /><br />It's a compelling suggestion, but somehow I think asking Josh Ritter out for a drink via email might be even less successful than asking an MPR reporter out <a href="http://stefanie-says.blogspot.com/2009/05/of-course-rats-do-have-bit-of-pr.html">turned out to be</a>. Of course, I may not actually have to send such an email, as this is the information age, and I have had a blog and a Sitemeter account long enough to know that even on the smallest and least notable of web sites, any words you type about a celebrity do not go unnoticed. No, thanks to Google Alerts and Technorati, Josh Ritter's publicist, or perhaps even Josh Ritter himself, will likely read this within a few short days of my clicking that "Publish Post" button. I sure am glad I talked about inside-out squirrels and head staples in the same post as the lyrical genius of young Mr. Ritter. (Message to Josh: Hi there! Call me!) Sigh.Stefaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10128238432671375399noreply@blogger.com13